A New Devil Rising
by erinmorgan
Summary: Beelzebub has been dormant for many years, but with Lucifer in his cage once more and the self-proclaimed King of Hell preoccupied with Purgatory, he sees a chance to have some fun once again. Possessing Dean Winchester is easy enough, but he wasn't counting on the band of angels that come to the hunter's rescue. demon!Dean, destiel
1. Preface

**AN:** _Hello, lovely people. This is my first story here so be nice, please! I'm excited to publish this, and I plan to post new chapters frequently (about once a week). I don't know how long it will be, but I have about three chapters written so far waiting to be proofed and edited. It's set somewhere between seasons six and seven. Castiel is at full power, and the brothers have a pretty good relationship. I love talking to people, and reviews will really make my day! Just, be warned that this has not been beta'd. So, yeah, that's all I have to say... On with the fic!_

**Disclaimer:**_ I don't know if this is necessary, but, sadly, I have absolutely nothing to do with Supernatural._

* * *

Dean woke up extremely disoriented. Dizzy and nauseated, he felt like a stranger in his own body. Taking a deep breath, Dean tried to scrub his hand down his face, but his arm refused to move. Confused, nervous, and almost embarrassed, he tried to move his arm again, but with no success. He tried to roll his shoulders, then his neck. He tried to move anything, to do a jumping jack, but his body wouldn't comply. Straining to remain calm, he examined how he felt in general – was he bound, was he a prisoner of some sort? He started internally screaming when he realized he wasn't bound in any way. He was just paralyzed. With sinking dread, he realized he wasn't in control; he was just a tiny bubble of consciousness in his large, bulky body.

_Oh, no,_ a voice both silky and slimy at the same time sounded in his head, _you're a prisoner alright. A prisoner in your own body._ There was a pause. Dean didn't know if he should, or even could, answer. Then the voice added, sickly sweet, _Let me show you._

Suddenly, light flooded his vision. Dean hadn't even noticed the lack of it before, but now it hit him like the floodlights of a baseball stadium. He strained to see, vaguely aware that his eyes were listening to him and blinking. Before he was able to tally his victory, he realized he was standing in front of a mirror, and the reflection he saw would have made him stumble if the other force within him wasn't rooted to the spot. Dean saw his own normal image – jeans, boots, undershirt, flannel shirt, short brown hair, tanned skin complete with wrinkles and scars – but he also saw one change that took his breath away and scared the life out of him: with one blink, his eyes went from bright green to jet black, no iris or white frame; just two black footballs on either side of his nose.

_No!_ he yelled.

_Oh, yes,_ the voice crowed. Dean watched a smile split across his face in the mirror and felt a sick sense of accomplishment and pride fill him. _You've been possessed, boy._

_Get out of me right now, or I swear I'll–_ Dean threatened.

_You'll what?_ the voice asked. _Exorcise me? We both know that you don't know all the words. Stab me with that pesky knife? It's nowhere near. Nor is any other weapon besides a useless gun under your pillow that will only hurt yourself and not me. Beat yourself up to hurt me? That actually sounds fun. Let's try it! Please?_

Despite all of his will power, Dean's fist collided with his own face. He heard as well as felt the excruciating pain of his nose breaking. To make the pain worse, that accomplished pride was curling into his gut again. Swearing, Dean desperately searched his memory for the exorcism he should have memorized a long time ago, but realized with defeat that he didn't know all the words. As hard as he tried, there were four or five words he just couldn't pronounce. Still, he refused to give up, even as he heard malicious laughter bubble out of his own mouth. Without much thought, Dean threw all of his efforts into the last thing he could think of: prayer. Whispering at first, then gaining confidence, Dean screamed for Castiel. He'd gotten a few pleas out before he was screaming unintelligibly from pure, white-hot pain. He had no idea what the demon was doing to him, but it hurt.

_No, no, no. No dashing angel in an ugly trench coat is going to save you._

With barely a thought, Dean felt the need to defend Castiel's honor, but received a renewed jolt of pain and the remark, _Ooh, you two have chemistry, don't you? That'll be fun to exploit._ Dean could practically feel the scheming smirk in the words, and he cringed with disgust and fear.

_What do you want, you sick son a bitch?_ he demanded gruffly.

_Oh, I thought you'd never ask,_ the voice cooed. _I just want to have some fun. Imagine all the fun I could have in you - the great Dean Winchester!_

_I won't let you,_ he gasped out. The demon hasn't eased the attack.

_Because you are obviously in a position to hold me back,_ the demon jeered. _Come on. This is gonna be great!_

With a wink, the demon let his eyes flick back to green, and snapped his nose back into place. He began to laugh as he wiped the blood from his chin and continued out of the room, down the stairs to the kitchen of the house the Winchesters were squatting in. Dean grimaced when he finally felt the demon retract its hold slightly. It was just enough that the pain stopped and that he had access to his senses.


	2. Chapter 1

**AN:** _ I know this is still pretty short and it's a fast update, but I've got some time on my hands so I thought I would post. I'm really excited about this, and I hope you like it._

* * *

"Hey, you're up!" Sam exclaimed from his place at a table hunched over his laptop. He leaned back in his chair to stretch. "Finally, man, I thought you were going to stay in bed all day."

"What, a guy can't sleep in every once in a while?" Dean asked with an edge to his voice.

"Geez, sorry man. Maybe you shouldn't have gotten up," Sam muttered. "Are you ready to go at least?"

"Yeah, let's roll," Dean said, grabbing a duffel and his keys, heading for the door. The slightest of smirks was etched on his lips.

The drive was long. Dean drove faster than usual to Sam's dismay, but the younger brother shrugged it off, thinking Dean was working through something; he was otherwise unsuspicious. He explained the job he had found in the next state over and gave the odd directions about highways while studying his computer. There wasn't much conversation, which neither brother minded. The silence was relatively comfortable, and for once, Sam appreciated Dean's choice of music. After about an hour, a cell phone started going off, and Dean answered it almost cheerfully, slightly confusing Sam.

"Oh, hey, Cas!" he greeted. "Yeah, we're on the move." He described their location to the angel and a third man was suddenly in the backseat if the Impala.

"Hello, Dean. Hello, Sam," Castiel said, nodding in each man's direction. He assumed his usual position, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His mouth was open to speak, but he stopped and turned to study Dean, leaning further forward.

Dean fidgeted under the stare, but refused to look back at the angel. Instead, he asked, "Cas, what'd I tell you about that getting-laid look?"

Unfazed, Castiel continued his stare for another long moment. Without taking his eyes off Dean he asked, "What are you doing?" His deep voice was colored with menace.

"Uh, Cas?" Sam said, turning around to look at him. "We're just driving to a new hunt. I don't think we've done anything wrong yet? I mean, how much damage can we cause by driving?"

"No," Castiel agreed, still darkly, "you haven't done anything yet." Though he answered Sam's question, he seemed to ignore him.

"Dude, is everything okay?" Sam asked.

"No, Sam, it's not," Castiel stated seriously. His eyes slide to Sam full of exasperation for just a second before returning to Dean. "Can't you tell that –"

"Alright, so, Cas, why are you here?" Dean cut in, earning a frown from Sam. "What can we do for you, man?"

"I came because I felt a disturbance. It appears I was correct." Castiel was now glaring at Dean, whose grin was finally cracking.

Dean asked, "Come on, Cas, what's goin' on?"

"What disturbance, Cas?" Sam asked with a cautious and distrusting glance between his brother and the angel.

But without further explanation, Castiel disappeared with the familiar flutter of wings and impossible indoor breeze. Dean cursed under his breath, but couldn't hide all of his relief from showing in his expression. Sam groaned and threw his arms in the air, fixing Dean with a distrusting stare. He definitely didn't miss the relief on Dean's face; if anything, his imagination exaggerated it. He didn't press any questions, but he was no longer comfortable in the silent car. If Castiel thought something was wrong and had looked at Dean with such distaste, Sam was inclined to suspicion.

In his head, Dean desperately screamed for Sammy to keep that suspicion and do something about it. He was also happy that now Cas was suspicious. The angel would definitely do something to save or to fix Dean. Still, underlying this happiness, Dean felt a twinge of despair. Not even when Dean had almost said 'yes' to Michael had Castiel looked at Dean in that manner, and it made his stomach turn.

As he felt them, Dean knew the demon was cataloging all of these thought and feelings. In the silences, the demon was combing Dean's memory, looking for ways to exploit and hurt Dean but also how to be Dean. The demon planned on wearing Dean's meat-suit for a long time, and as hard as Dean fought, he was not gaining control of his body anytime soon. The demon was allowing Dean to access his senses and to be fully aware of what was happening around him, but kept the voice and exterior firmly under control. Despite himself, Dean hoped the demon wouldn't do anything to humiliate him in public.

When they finally arrived at a motel, it was dark again. The brothers would probably go straight to bed as soon as they checked in. Dean offered to make a food run while Sam got a room, but the younger Winchester refused. He insisted on getting the food, saying Dean needed to rest after driving all day. Seeing Sam's determination, Dean agreed. When the Impala drove away again, the demon cursed and Dean quietly cheered.

_Did you really think he was gonna let you drive off with a trunk full of weapons by yourself after Cas's reaction?_ Dean asked the demon smugly. _You didn't even remind him about the pie._

_No matter,_ the demon growled. _Now you and I can have a nice chat._

Once settled in a room, Dean put a sign on the door for Sam and went straight to the alcohol. The demon picked Dean's favorite bottle of jack and sniffed it warily.

_I was going to give you a drink for your efforts, but you've laced the damn bottle with holy water haven't you?_ he sneered.

_Suck it, bitch,_ Dean replied smugly. _Makes the good stuff last longer._ The demon moved to smash the bottle, but Dean shouted, _No, don't!_

_Why?_ The demon sounded almost interested.

Thinking fast, Dean answered, _How would you explain it to Sam?_

_Fine,_ the demon consented.

_How are you gonna explain the not drinking to Sam?_ Dean asked with a twinge of guilt that it had to be explained at all.

Instead of answering, the demon spun around to face the door. It sensed something and went on high alert. Dean was both alarmed and almost eager to feel the demon's defenses go up. As much as he didn't want to hurt anyone or allow the demon to control him so easily, Dean couldn't help but be curious about what the demon could do or how it would feel to use special powers. A few tense moments passed before the demon relaxed again. He chuckled at Dean's uneasy enthusiasm and began to comment when than deeper than usual, menacing voice of Castiel sounded from the corner of the room.


	3. Chapter 2

**AN:** _So, there's finally a bit of action here. It's still nothing too drastic though..._

* * *

"Get out of him."

The demon spun on Dean's heel and made Dean's face a mask of exaggerated fear. Dean could tell that the demon really was afraid of Castiel, but in an effort to keep the upper hand, he made the emotion appear fake. It was Dean's turn to file something away as leverage.

_Shut up,_ the demon warned, causing that white-hot pain again. _I'm still in control here._ To Castiel, the demon said, "Dammit, Cas, stop doing that!"

The angel narrowed his eyes. "Expecting someone, Dean?" Castiel sneered his name, and Dean felt a twinge of hurt.

"Uh, yeah," the demon as Dean said. "Sam with food."

"He only just left. You know he won't be back soon." Castiel stared at Dean with narrowed eyes.

"Have you been following us, Cas?" the demon asked. "Why didn't you just stick around earlier? Stay in the car?"

Ignoring the question, Castiel walked closer to Dean so that they were less than a foot apart. "I know what you are."

With a cocky grin to cover up the tremor in his spine, the demon said, "Are you coming on to me, Cas?"

"I know who you are," Castiel repeated with emphasis.

"And who's that?" the demon asked, raising a suggestive eyebrow. "A dirty boy? Dammit, dude, you've gotta stop watching porn." He turned away, but Castiel grabbed him by the throat before he could move.

"Beelzebub," Castiel growled.

_Cas, buddy, you know I'm still in here right?_ Dean shouted nervously. The angel was practically cutting off his airways with his impossibly tight grip.

"See, darling, he answered your question for you," the demon, Beelzebub, answered out loud.

_What?_ Dean cried, a mix of confusion and fear.

"Ooh, very good," Beelzebub praised too sweetly, returning his attention to Castiel. "How did you know?"

"Your stench is undeniable," Castiel growled.

"There's no need to insult me," Beelzebub sang. "You should be taught some respect." With a lazy flick of his hand, the demon sent the angel flying into a wall. Then he rubbed his neck with one hand muttering, "Well, that'll leave a bruise," though Dean did not know whether he was speaking of Castiel's collision with the wall or his own throat.

_Cas!_ Dean shouted. _You stupid son of a bitch!_ he yelled at the demon.

"Well, it was him or me," Beelzebub shrugged Dean's shoulders innocently.

Castiel stood quickly, seemingly unaffected by the sudden flight. He looked with interest at the other figure in the room, listening to its one-sided argument with itself.

_Beelzebub?_ Dean asked. _I'm playing host to the devil? No way. I've met that asshole, and you are not him._

Beelzebub sighed heavily. "The devil? Oh, you ignorant boy. You've been around these Christians far too long," he said with a gesture toward Castiel, "which is quite ironic seeing as they've barely been around for any time at all."

_Then who are you?_ Dean asked, losing his patience.

"Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, one of the oldest and strongest evil spirits there are," the demon introduced himself with a deep bow. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

_Would you stop moving me like a monkey?_ Dean grumbled, backing down as he realized how outmatched he was.

"I'm only treating you like the hair-brained ape you are," Beelzebub said as if placating a child.

Bristling at the insult, Dean forgot that he was backing down for his own good and began to raise his defenses again, but Castiel's low and dangerous voice stopped him: "Seeing as you haven't killed him yet, how long does he have?"

Dean gulped at the question, anxious for the answer. He felt his face twist into an honestly thoughtful pose as the demon contemplated this. Castiel watched with his usual stoic expression, but Dean knew from experience that he slight twitch of his lips meant he was concerned, maybe even scared. The knowledge did nothing to help Dean's sanity.

"Well, the boy is quite strong," Beelzebub was saying softly. Dean felt his hand come to his chin and a finger tap his lips as he thought. "And he is Heaven's champion after all. The amount of times you've healed him with your filthy grace has made him immune to certain demonic... illnesses as well." Beelzebub paused again before finally breaking out a sleazy smile and declaring, "I think he'll be able to sustain me for a whole month before deteriorating. That is, a month at the longest," he added with a wink.

_Deteriorating?_ Dean cried.

"Well, look what happened to that poor man your devil inhabited," Beelzebub tsk'ed. "You'll go the same way: skin will melt and peel off, bones will crack or grind, consciousness will dwindle... And the more you fight, of course, the faster it'll happen."

Dean wanted to punch something, but try as he might, he still had no hope of moving – trying to felt like marching into a brick wall. In fact, it had never seemed more difficult to move than this moment; Dean assumed it was because the demon was in full power. In comparison to this great demonic spirit, he really was a fluffy, brainless rabbit. Refusing to feel defeat, Dean settled for screaming profanities and vowing violence when he finally got his body back. Across the room, Castiel's face darkened with rage, and his stance became more offensive. Suddenly, a shiny angel blade slid into his hand, which he gripped with white knuckles, and his eyes darkened, the blue irises pulsing. The lights of the room dimmed, but Castiel was glowing. With a roll of thunder, the large black shadows of his wings appeared on the wall behind him.

"Listen to yourself, Dean!" the demon commented happily, completely ignoring the angel. "In a handful of decades, you are going to make a wonderful demon! It's a shame Alistair couldn't break you completely those few years ago."

Castiel growled softly and vowed, "Dean Winchester will never return to Hell." His voice was gravelly and deeper than Dean had ever heard it. He was definitely scared and proud to feel the demon cringe as well.

Still, Beelzebub did not let his fear show at all as he challenged, "Oh, he won't, will he?"

_I won't?_ Dean asked in a voice full of hope, swallowing a gulp.

"Even the boy thinks he's going back, Castiel," the demon jeered, drawing confidence from Dean's fear. The angel's name sounded disgusting as it slithered off Dean's tongue, making him wince. Now Dean wanted to smack himself because of all things to make him cry in this whole mess, the sound of Castiel's name should not be one of them.

"What did I say?" Beelzebub laughed at Dean's thoughts. "Chemistry."

In all of his angelic glory, Castiel titled his head and faltered for a moment. He asked, "Why do you wish to discuss the sciences before you are smote?"

"Oh! You're going to smite me? Interesting!" the demon trilled. "You do, of course, know that smiting me would smite Dean, right?"

Again, Castiel faltered; and yet, his show of grace did not dim. He watched Dean's body with narrowed eyes as he tried to think of something to do. Of course Castiel knew he couldn't smite Beelzebub without hurting Dean, but he had hoped the demon wouldn't call his bluff. All the angel could really do was beat up the meat suit of Beelzebub, but that would hurt Dean much more than it would the demon and everyone present knew that. There really was nothing Castiel could do without seriously harming Dean. Just showing this much of his true presence was all he could manage without scorching Dean's eyes, and any other angelic offenses would similarly maim the man. As much as it pained Castiel, he could only hope that Dean would understand if the situation unfortunately came to that.

With every second he hesitated, Castiel could see Beelzebub basking in victory. It was a disgusting sight: Dean standing so relaxed, more relaxed than the angel had ever seen the hunter before, surrounded by a deep purple aura that was unmistakably the mark of Beelzebub's presence; Dean's inimitable deep, rough voice sounding foreign due to the sneer that underlined his every utterance; the evil, cunning grin stretching across his face wider than usual and, for once, genuine, not a flimsy mask hiding the misery and self-loathing so deeply imbedded in Dean. Castiel could hardly stand the sight of his charge, his Dean, in this manner. It reinforced his desperate desire to save Dean and his sense of defeat. Taking a deep breath and allowing a deep apology to show in his eyes, Castiel stepped forward with determination and set his palm on Dean's forehead.

_What are you doing?_ Dean gasped, wishing he could stumble backward, away from the terrifying being. Then understanding washed over him. Dean wanted to close his eyes and go peacefully, but the demon wouldn't let him. Instead, he began to whisper in a rush, though he was unsure whether he was consoling himself or Castiel. _It's alright. You have to. I understand. It's alright._

But the angel stopped at the last second. Castiel reached forward instead to crushingly grip Dean's left shoulder where his handprint once was and left a new brand, searing the skin, making both man and demon wail. Beelzebub shrank away from the pain, and Dean saw an opportunity. Drawing from the pain Castiel was inflicting as a source of power, he threw all of his strength into wresting back control. Panting and gritting his teeth, Dean slowly felt himself fill in the bulk of his body again. Wasting no time to rejoice, he bit down hard on his tongue to end his scream and met Castiel's eyes in an attempt to convey that he was back. Dean let his body go limp in Castiel's grip, and the sudden lack of resistance took Castiel by surprise. Both man and angel fell back, landing on the bed; Dean almost lifeless, panting softly, jaw set against the pain coming at him from every possible angle, underneath Castiel who was still stiff and prepared to fight.

Castiel lessened the pain in Dean's shoulder, but did not move his hand. Urgently, he asked, "What was the name of the prostitute you bought for me the night we summoned Raphael?"

"What?" Dean exclaimed on the verge of tears.

"Must I repeat the question?" Castiel insisted, his voice incredibly low.

"Uh–um– Ch-Chastity! Chastity!" Dean shouted.

And with that, Castiel shut down. His wings faded, and the glow in his eyes dwindled slowly. He lowered his hand from Dean's forehead and roughly dragged him into an embrace. Caught off-guard but relieved, Dean clapped Castiel on the back weakly and smiled as he pushed the angel away. Even while simply standing beside him, Castiel did not release Dean's arm, though he did stop emitting the pain.

"What'd you do to him?" Dean asked with a grimace. He could feel Beelzebub clamoring inside him desperate to be let out again.

"I branded your body with angelic power - toxic to demons. It will not last. I'm surprised it worked at all." While answering, Castiel ripped Dean's shirt from his torso, making the man gasp and jump away, if not for the bed braced against his legs.

"What the hell, man?" he shouted.

"Your anti-possession tattoo," Castiel stated as if that was explanation enough, "what happened to it?"

On Dean's chest, above his heart, a simple but powerful anti-possession symbol was tattooed in black ink so that something exactly like this never occurred. Above the tattoo, was a painful looking red cross surrounded by a circle. The lines were jagged, indicating the time and delicacy someone used while carving it onto Dean's chest. He had no recollection of that happening, but looking at it now, he felt the pain there.

"I have no idea." Dean's voice was shaky. Beelzebub was fighting back, and it hurt. He doubled over as fresh pain erupted in his stomach, as if Beelzebub was skinning him alive with a hot poker. Castiel laid a gentle hand on his back and shoulder, trying to right him and giving him something to lean on. In his head, Dean heard the demon laugh and coo.

"Dean, listen to me," Castiel demanded. "I can't fight him–"

"Bullshit, Cas, yes, you can," Dean interrupted. "I can take a beating. It wouldn't be the first time you gave me one, after all." He tried to laugh, but it came out as a moan due to Beelzebub's attacks.

"But, Dean, I could seriously harm you. I need to smite him!" Castiel argued, losing his patience.

"Then do it." Dean forced the words through gritted teeth.

"It will kill you!" Castiel cried.

"I don't care! Kill this thing while you have the chance!"

Dean's order ended in a strangled cry as Beelzebub regained control. Castiel felt the change immediately and tried to shove the demon away from him, but Beelzebub latched onto the angel's arm and dragged him back. A long string of words from a language even Castiel didn't recognize fell from Dean's lips while his face lit up with power and evil intentions. The spell's effect was instantaneous: Castiel was bound to his spot, arms at his sides, fists clenched, legs open in a battle stance, chin up in pointless defiance.

"You should have listened to him, Castiel," Beelzebub chastised. "Did you really think I would allow your boyfriend control for long?"


	4. Chapter 3

**AN:** _How could I leave my favorite character out of this? Reviews, especially after this chapter would be lovely! Please, please, please tell me what you think! Are the characters in character? Is the plot dumb? Any specific angels you want to come back? (Oops, there's a spoiler.)_

* * *

Sam was just getting back to the Impala with the food, when the car roared to life without the key. In his surprise, he knocked his head painfully against the roof. His reflexes kicked in instantly, and he extracted Ruby's knife from his belt to wield protectively before him, but what he was protecting himself from, he didn't know. No one was around, it was just a car acting strangely - not that a car full of weapons that had been driven through ghosts and demons galore acting strangely should be taken as nonthreatening.

"How ya doin', Moose?" a disembodied voice asked amiably.

"Who are you?" Sam asked the windshield, eyes darting around the empty parking lot wildly. He corrected himself quickly, "What are you?"

"Which question do you want me to answer, Sammykins?" Sam noticed the radio flare with the voice's response and assumed it was coming from there. He directed the knife toward it.

"Both," he ordered tartly.

"You really can't tell?" the voice asked. It sounded insulted. "That hurts, Samsquatch."

Sam tilted his head in frustration. The voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it. "Just answer the question!" He yelled, losing his patience.

The voice sighed. "And after everything I did for you, you'd think you would remember me. Well, Samantha, you're talking to Gabriel. Ring a bell? Hello," he drew out the word, "trickster turned archangel? The guy who literally died for you when he stood up to his brother? That really hurt, ya know. You try being stabbed in the heart by your big bro and tell me how it feels."

"Ga-Gabriel?" Sam gasped out. "But... How?" he stuttered. "I mean, it's great you're here, or sort of here, but how? You died! Apparently painfully."

"You think Castiel was the only angel God brought back?" Gabriel challenged. "Puh-lease! Like he would bring back a soldier before a general."

"Then why didn't you come back down to help us?" Sam asked angrily, tossing the knife onto the passenger seat.

"And die for you two popsicle-heads again? No, thanks," he said. "Besides, Michael may or may not have thrown me into angel prison." After a moment, he added, "Which he did!"

Sam remembered the way 'angel prison' had warped Anna's mind and shuddered at what Gabriel must have gone through up there. As an archangel who committed a much worse crime, he must have been tortured. Dropping the accusations, he asked, "So what are you doin' here now?"

"Castiel called me," Gabriel explained. "He said he felt a 'monumental disturbance' in one of the Winchesters and asked for my help. You seem pretty normal to talk to, so I'm guessing it's not you, Sammo."

"Seriously? Can you stop with the names?" Sam bristled.

"As if!" Gabriel laughed. "This is the first time I'm taking to you in fifty years, old man. I'm getting out all the names I can!"

"Fifty years? Gabe, it's only been like three."

"Huh?" Gabriel went quiet for a moment, and Sam's heart broke wondering again what they did to him in Heaven. "I knew it was weird that you were still alive after that long. No offense, but I expected you two chuckleheads to die in the apocalypse or, if you actually pulled it off, three to four years later. Congrats on surviving, by the way!" Gabriel's voice was a little too cheery and definitely bitter, but it strengthened as he spoke.

"Uh, thanks," Sam asked more than said. "Anyway," he shook his and continued the friendly interrogation, "why did Cas go to you?"

"Very little is stronger than an archangel, remember? Besides, I kinda owe him. I mean, we became alright friends after he sprung me from jail, but who can blame him for calling in a favor?"

"What favor?"

"Like I said, Sammy, to check out what was weird with you and Deano. He said he felt a ginormous demonic presence near you for a few days and wanted my help because it seemed too strong for him. Which leads me to my question: where the hell is Cas? Or Dean for that matter? The trench-coated pair of wings said he'd check in with me after he spoke to you, but he hasn't yet."

"Well, he popped in when we were driving early in the day, but Dean seemed to offend him by simply being, and he flew away."

"Why do you say Dean offended him?"

"Well, he stopped short, asked Dean what he was doing, said he felt a disturbance, and disappeared. But he had just stared at Dean with such disgust, like he absolutely hated him."

"Yeah, Castiel definitely does not hate your big brother. The love-sick flying monkey probably figured out right then that your brother is a demon."

"What?" Sam exclaimed. "Dean is not a demon! He can't even be possessed!"

"Why, because of that pesky little charm tattoo you boys have? It's just ink. It can be scratched off."

"It's a tattoo!"

"Painfully scratched off."

Sam didn't respond, and Gabriel paused. Sighing and staring out the window, Sam tried to wrap his head around everything Gabriel told him. After a while of silence, he realized how weird it must look for him to still be parked in the diner's lot, so he turned the key in the ignition, and backed onto the street, hoping no one had seen him talking to a radio. As he was driving, he realized he shouldn't go back to the hotel. If Dean really was possessed, he didn't want to be anywhere near him until he had figured something out. Sam felt guilty leaving his brother alone with a demon crawling under his skin, but he knew it wouldn't help for him to just stroll in blind.

Still speaking through the radio, Gabriel said, "If it means anything, I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me? For what – I got you killed!" Sam couldn't hold back his laugh.

"Yes, you did, but since I'm back, there's no point in yelling at you for it," Gabriel said. "I wanted to thank you for stopping my brothers. I honestly wasn't sure if you could do it, but I had faith in you guys anyway. So, thanks for canceling the apocalypse and all." He paused, but before Sam could brush him off, he added, "And for making me see sense and return to my family."

"That part wasn't me. That was all Dean," Sam said softly.

Gabriel sighed. "True. Remind me to thank Deano later."

"Once we fix all this, I'll buy you desert," Sam promised smiling.

"Oh, it's been so long since I had a good sit-down meal with a couple of lovely ladies!" Gabriel practically whined. "I'm holding you to this!"

"Speaking of sitting down," Sam said thoughtfully, "why aren't you sitting down with me now?"

"I didn't know if you were a demon or not," Gabriel shrugged. Suddenly he was in the passenger seat, turning Ruby's knife over in his hands.

"Son of a–" Sam shouted, hitting his head on the roof of the car again and swerving into the other lane. Thankfully, it was late enough that there was no opposite traffic. "Little warning next time."

"Hey, you asked me sit down, Samsquatch. You should've been prepared," Gabriel reprimanded.

Sam let out a heavy breath and rolled his shoulders without answering the archangel. Instead, he took in the familiar man sitting beside him with a smile he couldn't contain. For all the trouble Gabriel caused, Sam always thought he was good guy and had genuinely missed him after his death. Seeing the archangel beside him now was a long overdue, very welcome sight, even if he looked more haggard and sullen than usual. Sam wanted to ask him so many things, but instead settled on figuring out the problem at hand.

Returning his attention to the road, he asked, "So, what do we do?"

"Well, I'm gonna have myself a good smiting session," Gabriel said. Then he groaned happily, "Oh, it's been so long since I smote someone!" The grin on his face amused Sam but unnerved him at the same time.

"You can't smite, Dean," he stated flatly. "My brother's still in there."

"Are you sure about that, Sam?" Gabriel asked softly. His expression was one of pure concern, bordering pity. The fact that he used Sam's real name stirred an emotional response from Sam, but the man swallowed it down.

He answered, "We can't just assume he's dead."

"We also can't take chances," Gabriel countered.

Sam took a deep breath as Gabriel pointed out the obvious. "Can we at least come up with a plan A and call that plan B?"

"I suppose so, but I don't know what else to do, kiddo," Gabriel consented.

"Can't we rough him up a bit?" Sam suggested desperately.

"That will mostly hurt your brother," Gabriel said. "Innocent meat suits have been killed accidentally trying to rough up demons." Sam nodded, keeping his eyes firmly on the road. He was determined to think of something.

He was about to suggest something else when Gabriel's eyes were suddenly blown wide and his head fell back against seat. His hands flew to his temples, one forming a fist he seemed to want to hit himself with but settled for pounding his thigh. Sam pulled over and watched him, unsure what to do. Finally, Gabriel gasped out, "Get – to the – motel!" and Sam floored it. They made it down the block and around a corner when Gabriel screamed and clutched his head tighter. Eyes darting back forth between the road and the archangel, Sam wished he could do something because driving felt like uselessly sitting.

"Change of plans," Gabriel gasped out when they were almost there. "We can't go back. Sam, stop. Stop!" Gabriel yelled.

"But Dean! And Cas!" Sam sputtered in protest.

"Are on their own for now."

"We can't just leave them! What the hell was that?" Sam asked, gesturing to Gabriel's head.

"Sam, you don't understand," Gabriel persisted. "The demon is not just a demon. It's Beelzebub."

"Isn't that just another name for the devil?" Sam asked, growing more restless. "We can deal with him! We should be there doing something!"

"Yeah, alright!" Gabriel burst out, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Let's burst into a place that's heavily warded against angels, your brother is possessed by one of the oldest, strongest evil things there are, and my brother is on his way to being bound to its service. That'll go over real well, Samsquatch! Now, pull over!"

The words felt like a slap as the severity of the situation sank in. Silently fuming, Sam parked the car in the shoulder of the road again, and stared at Gabriel somewhere between accusing and pleading. Calmly now, though still frustrated, Sam asked, "Beelzebub?"

"Yes, Beelzebub," Gabriel repeated. "No, he's not just another name for the devil, at least, not the devil you know. Believe you me, if it was just Lucy inside Dean this would be a cake-walk, but it's not."

Sam gritted his teeth and pressed, "And Castiel is bound to his service?"

"Yes," Gabriel confirmed with a shudder. "At first I thought it was just some paralysis thing because Cassy was getting beat up, but it turned into a servitude thing."

"So, he's Beelzebub's slave?"

"Yeah."

"That's not good."

"Ya think, Moose?" Gabriel shouted. "We're on our own now. A lonely, half-mad hunter and a rusty, deranged angel against the best hunter and angel either of us know both controlled by Beelzebub!"

The two sat in silence; both thinking, neither forming a plan. To Sam, the situation was rather hopeless. He tried to stay positive; he tried to tell himself that at least he had an archangel and at least Dean and Castiel were strong, that they would fight Beelzebub's control, but Gabriel seemed pretty sure they were doomed. With a heavy sigh, he started the car again and drove slowly through the town until he found another motel. He booked a room for two and set to work researching, ignoring Gabriel's constant chatter about everything going against them.

"Would you stop?" Sam finally burst. Gabriel froze where he was pacing and turned to look at Sam. "Look, man, I know that this is all really bad, but you've gotta snap out of it. I need to save my brother, and you need to save yours. We stopped Lucifer, didn't we? You said before you thought that was hopeless, but we still came through. Have faith that we can do it again now. Stop looking at all the bad things like they're so bad!" Gabriel raised a questioning eyebrow, and Sam shook his head. "I mean, try to look for opportunities, things we can exploit. You can't just give up."

Gabriel sighed, rubbed his temples, and collapsed on a bed. His voice muffled by the pillows, he asked, "Alright, I'll bite. Where do we start?"

"How about you start by giving me the full scoop on Beelzebub? You seem to know so much about him," Sam encouraged.

Gabriel sighed heavily. "I've tangoed with him before," he muttered, rolling onto his side to face Sam. "He's strong, stronger than any demon I've ever fought and certainly stronger than any demon you've fought. The magic on him... Well, even I have to say that it's impressive. He can do more than just fling people into walls, that's for sure, and he can do a lot more than trickster parlor stuff, too. He's got spells and real magic under his belt. Puts that Crowley guy to shame."

"Like the binding he used on Cas," Sam prompted.

"Yeah, that was a nifty, little thing that usually takes about three witches or five demons to perform," Gabriel chuckled derisively. "It's special to angels. Paralyzes them until the binder gives a command. The angel then has to fulfill the command or a certain pain will flare up - the binder picks the pain: phantom itch, migraine, melting spine, anything. Once the command is fulfilled... Well, again, it depends on the binder. The angel will either freeze like an action figure on a shelf or go on life as normal like a sleeper agent. That's the worst part - the free will part," Gabriel added with a shudder. "A bound angel knows he's bound, but when he's allowed to walk around as if he's not, it feels like we're acting under free will. From what I felt, Beelzebub chose the sleeper agent option, but knowing that love-sick flying monkey, he'll probably just follow Dean-as-Beelzebub around all the time."

Sam shuddered as well, but pressed on. "From what you felt? What was that in the car?" He had turned to fully face the archangel by now, excited to finally get some proper answers. All of the websites he found about Beelzebub were sparse church sites or centered on the Queen song.

"That was Castiel attempting to talk to me."

"Since when does angel radio hurt?"

"Since I've been locked in prison and cut off from it for fifty years. Besides, it wasn't regular radio. A little while ago, Cassy and I experimented with this mind-meld thing. A quick incantation from him and I can see and experience what he does, ah vica-versa. He was in such pain when Beelzebub bound him..." Gabriel trailed off with another shudder. "And it was just creepy that Dean's body did it to him, ya know?"

"Yeah, I can imagine," Sam grunted. "So, what's his angle though? I mean, what does he want? You said you've fought him before. What was he after back then?"

"Guy's got the personality of a trickster. Likes to have fun and mess with people. The last time I met him was just after Michael shoved Lucy in the cage. He was making a bid for the world, gonna start his own apocalypse sorta."

"Great, another one of those," Sam commented dryly. "How did that last fight against him go?"

"You have to remember I was young and full of myself then," Gabriel cautioned.

"Well, you're still full of yourself so maybe we've got a chance."

"Don't make me shut your piehole, Samantha." Sam laughed at Gabriel's threat. "My family was falling apart. One brother had just ousted my other brother while my third brother sat idly by. I came down to earth thinking I would rule the place and knock a few asses off their pedestals when I came across Beelzebub. He thought I was just a trickster, and boy was he surprised when I proved to be an archangel with nothing to lose and a lot of anger to get out."

"If you won, why didn't you just smite him then and there?"

"I had thought I was cut off from Heaven," Gabriel shrugged.

Sam took a moment to process the new information before continuing, "So, is he out for revenge now, do you think?"

"I don't know. I hope not - that means he's coming after me next!"

Sam rolled his eyes. "He could also be making a new try for that apocalypse. If he's so powerful and magical it should be easy for him, no?"

"Yeah, it should," Gabriel confirmed darkly.

"Great," Sam sighed. They lapsed into another silence. Gabriel flopped onto his back, and Sam went out to the car, suddenly remembering the food. He researched as he ate and told Gabriel to try that mind-meld thing again. When nothing happened, Gabriel blamed the bad connection on Beelzebub. He guessed that in his bound state, Castiel was incapable of receiving Gabriel's call. Sam thought the problem was Gabriel's lack of effort, but he didn't want to push the archangel any more than he already had.

"Besides," Gabriel reasoned, "do we really want them to accidentally see where we are or what we know?" Sam grunted consent as he watched his last option float away.


	5. Chapter 4

**AN:** _I'm sorry on many accounts today! (1) I do try to update in good time. Like I said before the first part, I hope to update at least once a week. Right now, I'm in the middle of my summer break, so I have some time on my hands. (I should actually be doing my summer assignments, but that's another story.) I fear how long the time will be between my updates once school starts, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. (2) This is the last chapter I have prepared in advance. It'll definitely be a while before the next one. (3) The journey this story makes is from a note on my phone to a Word document to here, and it still isn't beta'd so all mistakes are completely mine - please point them out to me if you find any!_

* * *

_What did you do?_ Dean cried.

"I bound him," Beelzebub said simply.

_Bound him? With what?_ Dean persisted. He knew his questions were ridiculous, but he was trying to buy time, to stall the demon, and to allow Castiel to free himself.

"What do you think, ape?" Beelzebub snapped. "If you're going to be this slow, I might as well shut you out."

_No!_ Dean said quickly, afraid of what that might mean. Like a coward, he crumbled at the thought of what else Beelzebub could do to him. He'd been to Hell once already; he couldn't bare that torture again topside.

"You'll be good?" Dean felt his face twist into a smile.

_Excuse me?_ Dean snapped. _No way!_

"Really now?" Beelzebub asked inciting more pain. "Well, then, I'll just have to shut you out."

_What do you want?_ Dean barked.

"Why, I only want you to behave," the demon answered sweetly. His voice deepened dangerously: "So, will you?"

_But what's your grand plan, you sick puppeteer? _Dean spat, desperately searching through the pain for better, witty insults knowing he didn't sound a millimeter near frightening. _Why now? What are you here for? Why me?_

"Why you? Why, Dean!" Beelzebub sputtered flabbergasted. "You really should put more faith in yourself. Don't you know how special you are? How strong and respected you are? I can easily do whatever I want in you, and no one, not a single hunter, would bother me because who is better than the great Dean Winchester? You're the best hunter around; nothing can possess you – you'd kill it first!"

_Flattery's gonna get you nowhere, _Dean paused for a moment, _assbutt!_ he finally finished.

"Assbutt?" the demon repeated. Across the room, Castiel winced at the horrible insult. "Now, Dean, what does that even mean? Please, just stop wasting your breath and obey!" With the last word, a new pain cut through Dean. Instead of a hot poker, the demon seemed to employ a pair of shears to slice his host into small, agonizing pieces. Dean bit back a scream as memories of his time with Alistair resurfaced.

"So what'll it be? Will you be good?"

Grudgingly, he panted, _Yes._

"Yes, what?" Beelzebub teased.

_Yes, what, what?_ Dean snapped.

"Yes, what?" Beelzebub repeated calmly, sated by Dean's submission. "Will you be good?"

Seething but without options, Dean muttered, _Yes, I... I'll be good._ He felt another strong urge to punch something. His self-loathe doubled in that instant.

"And you'll do as I say?" Beelzebub asked sweetly. Dean growled in response. Beelzebub tightened the shears and twisted the hot poker again. Pain erupted in Dean and he could barely breathe, let alone speak for a minute. "Dean..." the demon chided.

_Fine!_ he groaned, desperate to curl into the fetal position. It felt like he was strung up against a wall, just hanging there for the enemy to poke and prod and torture, with no way to defend himself. He could only talk and shove at it, but how he was shoving he didn't even know. _Fine, yes._

"Yes, what?" Beelzebub eased the pain just slightly.

_Yes, I'll,_ he grunted in discomfort, feeling his pride slip away, _I'll do as you say._

"Ooh, good." Beelzebub grinned, giving Dean one last jab of pain, sharper than all the others that would have left him in tears if his eyes would listen to him. "I knew you'd come around."

_Not like I have a choice,_ Dean scoffed, trying to maintain whatever control he could and really just reasoning with his lost pride.

"Now," Beelzebub returned his attention to the angel standing in front of him. Castiel still stood in that defiant position with narrowed eyes and fists at his sides. His mouth was a thin, pale line, and his hair was mussed as it was when Dean first met him. The memory instilled the slightest amount of hope in Dean as he remembered how strong that original, good soldier Castiel had been. At the same time, however, Dean thought about how much Castiel had changed, how much he personally had changed Castiel. He sighed, losing that feeble hope. Castiel's changes weren't exactly horrible – over the years, the brothers had humanized him, given him emotions and personality, altogether making him a better person – but in this case, when the emotionless soldier was needed and the nervous, distracted angel answered, Dean was worried.

As he listened to Dean's thoughts, the demon laughed. "Are you going to be good, Castiel?" Beelzebub asked flirtatiously.

The angel shuddered ever so slightly at his tone. "What do you want?" he spat.

"I want you to answer the question," Beelzebub said, his smile daring the angel to disobey.

He did: "No."

Not caring whether or not Beelzebub sensed it, Castiel reached out again to Gabriel. He didn't want his brother to know where he was or even to know where his brother was, he only wanted to know that he was with Sam and that they were safe. Beelzebub's smile widened at his answer, and Castiel only stared daringly and determinedly forced to or not. After a tense moment, in which Dean was more than confused but was too afraid ask anything, Castiel bit down on his lip in pain. His fists tightened, and he took a sharp, deep breath through his nose. Dean swore he saw tears in his best friend's eyes. "Feeling it yet?" Beelzebub inquired.

"What is that?" Castiel growled. He remained completely still. Only his countenance expressed how much pain he was in and even that was measured. Castiel refused to look weak in front of this enemy; he refused to submit to the fire burning in all of his extremities, most severely in his chest where he supposed his grace was centered. His lower back felt like it was curling in on itself, and his stomach felt like it was melting from the inside out; but, worst of all, his heart felt like it was sitting in an inferno. He could feel real flames liking at and inside his chest. He could feel his spine tingling and breaking. He felt his lower back and abs boiling.

"I believe you're familiar with the binding I used?" Castiel nodded tightly. "Well, that's the punishment I chose."

"But what is the punishment?" Castiel gasped.

"Your grace is on fire, Castiel," Beelzebub explained innocently as the angel ground his teeth and visibly held back a groan. Dean didn't understand how he was still so erect if he was in so much pain. His mind went into overdrive trying to make sense of the situation.

_His grace is like his soul, right?_ he asked himself. _Damn, that's gotta hurt! Stupid son of a bitch!_ Dean thought back to Castiel's report on Sam's soul those months ago: a raw nerve flayed alive. _If one devil could do that to Sammy, what could this devil do to Cas?_

"You're giving me such wonderful ideas, Dean." Beelzebub's voice was awed and grateful as he sifted through the memories Dean was bringing front and center – the actions of his soulless brother. "I'm so glad you decided to cooperate." Dean mentally slapped himself and resolved to just stop thinking. With some effort, he managed to rid his mind of any memories and instead painted it with some of his favorite Busty Asian Beauties.

Yet Beelzebub continued as if didn't notice. "We need to give Castiel more incentive, don't we?"

Castiel's eyes were watering, and his lips were deathly pale. His entire face was already twisted with such pain, that he actually moaned when Beelzebub suggested more. His eyes grew wide with fear, their expression almost pleading. He knew it was not Dean's fault that he was accidentally aiding the demon, but he wished Dean would stop.

Still, when Beelzebub asked again if he was ready to behave, Castiel whispered, "No." Dean thought he would burst with pride - his best friend was able to resist where he had failed.

"You insolent child!" Beelzebub screamed. Dean felt his fist collide with Castiel's jaw and marveled at how hard and fast the hit was. Immediately he was overcome with guilt that he had done that to his angel. The guilt doubled when he realized he enjoyed the power he had used on his angel. He tried to fight against Beelzebub again but was still so fatigued from holding control for so short a time earlier. Thoughts of deterioration wormed into his mind, bringing doubt and fear, and fought against thoughts of matching Castiel's strength and bravery. For a time, he put absolutely all of his efforts into stopping his arms because nothing was more important to Dean than saving Castiel, but his efforts barely hindered the demon and only resulted in Dean's rapid depletion of strength. It was obvious that he was being absolutely useless, but Dean had to try. He tried and tried until he could barely breathe and his vision was blurring. He knew his fight was hopelessly futile, especially while the demon was empowered by such rage, so, Dean finally went limp in his own body. He cursed himself continuously, but he gave Beelzebub full control. While his spotted vision slowly recovered, he attempted to convince himself that he was only doing just that; he just needed to recuperate, save his strength. He told himself that he wasn't giving up, he wasn't complying, he wasn't too weak, he wasn't aiding a demon, he wasn't abandoning his friend. Regardless, the guilt tripled three times.

With every swing of his arm, the demon taunted Dean's faint. Suddenly, his silky voice was harsh but inviting, asking, "It feels good, doesn't it? To let out your anger and frustration, to feel real power against the one who caused such strife! Think about it: before Castiel came, you and Sammy were fine, weren't you? You were in Hell, where you belonged, and Sammy was being the freak he truly is. Castiel brought all of the recent trials and tribulations. Without him, Ellen and Jo would be alive, wouldn't they?" Dean tried not to listen, but the truth in the words was astounding, if exaggerated. At the same time, Dean received a sudden burst of energy. The names of his loved ones rolling off Beelzebub's tongue in such a flippant way enraged Dean. He threw all of his remaining strength into one last bid for control before the lights went out completely.

On the other receiving end of this conflict, Castiel barely swayed where he stood. He was truly frozen, no matter how hard he tried to move, no matter how hard each blow came. Castiel watched Dean's arm reel back, and the next hit came harder than the last. Castiel lost count of how many times Beelzebub punched him; most connected with his face, others landed on his stomach, some were aimed lower. The pain of each one was intensified by a flare of pain in his stomach. He steeled himself before each blow, but they hurt all the same. Seeing Dean as his assailant seemed to make them hurt more and the filth pouring out of Dean's mouth did not help. The demon was obviously toying with Dean's mind, but it was hitting Castiel hard, too. This was not the first time such accusations had crossed his mind. He knew that Dean could not control himself and was not the one attacking him, but everything hurt all the same. He knew Dean was not to blame, but he could not fight the feeling that Dean could try harder.

_Where did that come from?_ Castiel reprimanded himself. _How dare you think that of your Righteous Man?_

_It came from me, darling_, a slimy voice whispered in his ear. Do _you think I only know physical pain?_

He held out for a long time after, but it felt all too soon when it finally ended; Castiel knew that it would only end for one thing. With a loud cry, Castiel felt the tears finally stream down his face. His legs finally collapsed beneath him. His arms finally rose to shield his face. He was finally on the floor where he could finally fold his knees protectively in front of his chest. Castiel cried out the same thing, but softer, much softer, this time. As he repeated it again in a whisper, both fires in his heart slowly went out: the source of his pain depleted slowly with every repetition of his cry, but the fire that propelled him through life, his passion and his conscience, went out as soon as the first cry was voiced

He failed. He had failed not only himself, but his Dean, and he would certainly never forgive himself for it.

Above him, Beelzebub-as-Dean-Winchester smirked at him with his happiest and most twisted of smiles.

"Yes," Castiel cried again, barely audible though his mouth did move. "I'll do as you say.

"Just make it stop."


	6. Chapter 5

**AN:** _I'm so, so, so sorry that this took so long! I have a million excuses as to why I haven't posted (the big one is I haven't been on my laptop in a while), but I know you don't want to hear them, so I'll just leave it at the apology. I must warn that there will be a good amount of time before my next post, too, because I'm going away with my family for a week. Plus, I've got a busy couple of weekends ahead of me, so yeah..._

* * *

"Alright," Sam groaned, picking his head up from the table and scrubbing his face with his hands. "One more time..."

"A demon beat up my lil' bro using your big bro, Sam!" Gabriel shouted in frustration. "What more can you get out of that?"

"What was said, Gabriel?" Sam asked with barely contained frustration of his own. The archangel had no patience and was beginning to grate Sam's. The man had even been pouring himself drinks for an hour or so to put up with it – he swore to himself he would never question Dean's drinking habits again.

The two were still in the motel room, still in the same positions on the bed and at the table, yet still out of options. Sam's exhaustion was obvious. His face was drawn, his eyes were drooping, and even his hair was disheveled. Never before had he done so much research but received so few results. He again felt like was uselessly sitting there doing nothing. He desperately needed to rest; half of his mind had spent the last hour persuading him to sleep, but the other half refused to until he found something useful.

To Sam's amazement, Gabriel looked just as strung out as he was. The archangel's appearance was less haggard than Sam's, but his stress was nonetheless apparent. Every so often, he would hop off the bed with a suggestion only to stop mid-thought, realize a fault in his plan, and flop back on the bed dejectedly. He was so restless that he had resorted to pacing a few times, but each time, Sam had yelled at him to stay still. Gabriel simply did not like this game; he was supposed to make the rules and watch everyone else dance for him. He was an archangel and a trickster, not some demon toy. The salt on the wound, though, was that he actually, really, truly cared about the people involved, blood relation or not, and he would not forgive himself for failing.

"Alright. This one's for the girls," Gabriel began sarcastically and received an obviously unamused warning face from Sam. "Beelzebub was taunting Dean about doing as he told or something, and then Castiel was being taunted about being good. Castiel refused, so the pain started. I really have to hand it to Cassie for how long he's held out. For all I know, he's still holding out. Of course, I don't know, since I was bitch-slapped out of his head by the bastard of a demon inside your brother!"

"Wait, wait, wait," Sam cut in. "You were cast out of Cas's head? Why didn't you tell me that earlier?"

"I thought my obvious pain was indication enough, Samsquatch," Gabriel shot back scathingly. "Besides, what good does that really do us?" he added with a mocking expression.

Sam grumbled something about research, but Gabriel still could not see the relevance. As the time ticked by, the silence was only broken by Sam's typing, or clacking to Gabriel as it was the most annoying sound he'd ever heard. Finally, the archangel looked out the window of the motel room to see the faint orange glow of dawn. He practically hit himself when he realized that he had allowed Sam to stay awake all night hunched over the too-low desk and staring at the too-bright glow of his laptop. Ignoring the man's indignant squawks, Gabriel closed the computer over his fingers and dragged him over to a bed. He assured Sam that he would keep thinking and that he wouldn't leave, but the promises fell on deaf ears – as soon as Sam was horizontal, he was asleep.

Telling himself that he wasn't really breaking a promise, since he had to move to think and it was only the parking lot, Gabriel quietly left the room to pace freely. Soon that wasn't enough though, and he found himself flying to random locations simply to clear his head. He felt a little guilty for leaving Sam, but that motel room was killing him, and it would be much more productive if he could have a little freedom. He reasoned with himself that he wouldn't be gone for very long, that he would be there when Sam woke up.

"Besides," Gabriel thought out loud as he materialized in a field of donkeys, "Sammich knows how to pray."

After a few steps through the field, Gabriel disappeared and reappeared in a silent forest. Without breaking stride, his steps continued. He pivoted as he flew to another random destination. A few more steps found him in an alleyway. Some more brought him to a different motel parking lot. Next, he was outside a candy store; then, a strip club; then, a cemetery. Distantly, Gabriel wondered if anyone saw his magic act but couldn't be bothered to dwell on it. Finally, he landed on a slanted rooftop, which he almost fell off of. With a laugh, he caught his balance and noticed a chimney to his right. The archangel smirked and perched himself gingerly on the edge.

"Now," he began, voicing his thoughts again. "Beelzebub, that tricky bastard." He hung his head backward and exhaled loudly. "What do you want this time?" His thoughts wandered to their last meeting so long ago. It had been in a disgusting forest setting, a mirage the imposing trickster had created himself for his latest victim. The demon had stumbled into it, too, quite by accident, and gotten in the way of Gabriel's fun…

A loud thump alerted both predator and prey. The man Gabriel was messing with seemed to come to his senses with the noise and ran for his life in the other direction. Furiously, Gabriel sought out who was interrupting his game. He turned slowly and found himself looking down on a handsome man with a cunning smirk. He was perched on the ground as if he had just jumped out of a tree with his head titled up. As he stood, he ostentatiously stretched his long, lithe limbs and raked his long black hair away from his black eyes.

Gabriel himself wasn't wearing a human, but he was maintaining the guise of one. His figure stood taller and broader than the stranger, and his fair hair complimented his light eyes. His angelic power was trying its best to shine through the disguise, but Gabriel held it back tighter now faced by a threat. If possible, he would avoid a fight; fighting meant showing his power, which would draw Heaven's much unwanted attention to him.

Both beings knew that the other wasn't human. They could each feel the supernatural energy rolling off each other in waves. Gabriel immediately registered that the calm man in front of him was a powerful demon. Beelzebub, however, couldn't see through Gabriel's haze and took him for face-value: a lowly though well-built trickster. The demon took Gabriel in with lazy eyes, pushed off the tree, and slowly approached the trickster with a threatening gait, laughing to himself about the predator becoming the prey. Gabriel stood still, waiting for the demon to make the first move. He stiffened slightly as the demon walked toward him and didn't take his eyes off the demon's face, but seemed otherwise unaffected by the advance.

"Brave," the demon remarked as if it was a compliment.

Gabriel only chuckled.

"Something funny?" Beelzebub asked from behind him.

"Well, yeah," Gabriel answered. "You."

"And why am I funny?"

"You think you're stronger than me."

Standing in front of him again, Beelzebub asked coyly, "I'm not?" Without warning, he threw a magical attack at Gabriel.

Gabriel deflected it easily with a wave of his hand. "No, you're not," he then stated simply with a self-satisfied smirk.

Narrowing his eyes, Beelzebub examined Gabriel again. "You are strong for a trickster."

With the smallest of smiles, Gabriel replied, "I am, aren't I?"

"Then why are you wasting this power as a simpleton and a joke?" Beelzebub purred. "With the right help… No, with the right friends, you could be so much more."

"I am no joke," Gabriel informed him curtly.

"All tricksters are jokes," Beelzebub stated sounding bored. "All you do is bother people. You don't kill you; you don't damn souls to hell; you just cause a few laughs. Where is the fear in that?" Gabriel did not respond, and Beelzebub became noticeably irritated by it. He expected the stupid trickster to start grovelling at his feet, to beg that he be taught the wonders of demonic destruction. Instead, the trickster saw himself above Beelzebub! The demon's eyes glinted as he added, "And apparently you need to be put in you place."

Although he saw the attack coming, Gabriel was hit much faster than he could react to. His body flew back, curling around the invisible force that hit him, arms and legs like streamers in front of him. He was propelled through the air into the nearest tree which shook with the deafening collision of his back and head against the strong, rough bark. Though nothing held him in place, Gabriel did not slide to the ground. He remained firmly pinned against the tree; the jagged bark painfully pressing into his neck, where he could feel deep cuts forming. Using the same predatory gait, Beelzebub slowly followed Gabriel's flight and taunted, completely disregarding any attempts Gabriel made to free himself. He restrained Gabriel's legs and wrapped his arms around the tree in a numbing position, bending them backward and in the wrong places.

"Not so strong now, are you, trickster? Where is all that power you boast of? Did you think that little fast ball was all I could do? Do you think this is all I can do?"

To prove his point, Beelzebub grabbed Gabriel by the collar and threw him into the air. As he reached his vertex, he was flung left then right. When he finally started falling again, Gabriel was seemingly punched in the stomach and sent back into the air. The onslaught continued in a similar manner for some time before Gabriel finally slammed painfully into the ground, but instead of struggling to regain his feet, the archangel did not move at all. He didn't even breathe. He laid exactly as he was on his stomach on the hard ground with his face pressed into the dirt and leaves. He was not afraid of, weaker than, or even hurt by the demon carelessly tossing him about, but he was amused by him. He kept his face strictly drawn to appear unimpressed as the demon jerked him off the ground to his feet. His knees did not wobble as his arms crossed to stare down the demon.

Beelzebub scrutinized him once more for long silent moment before speaking. "Well, I must say I am impressed," he granted. "Are you even hurt?" Gabriel only scoffed indignantly in reply. "You'll make a glorious ally," Beelzebub exclaimed allowing a small amount of awe to leak through his voice. "Tell me, please, what is your name? For I am Beelzebub, lord of the flies and all other nasty things that can't be suppressed."

"Ally?" Gabriel spat, ignoring the demon's introduction. "Why in Heaven, Hell, Earth, or Purgatory would I be an ally to you, you bottom-feeding smoke cloud?"

Beelzebub's eyebrows shot into his hairline as he took in Gabriel's words. Through a calming breath, he said, "You'll be an ally to me because there can't possibly be any worse enemy to have. You're just a trickster - a strong trickster, yes, but a lowly trickster nonetheless. Besides, in due time, you'll be begging me to spare you."

Gabriel's interest piqued. "And whyever would that be?"

"Because the end of the world is on its way, and I will be ushering it on its path."

"How so?"

Beelzebub was eager to answer, assuming Gabriel's questions meant he was winning him over. "Let's just say that I'm an avid reader, and when a recent convict brought a new leather-bound holy book with him, I was curious. Ever heard of Christianity, trickster? It's a relatively new and rather small cult whose entire code so far is based on death and destruction. Wonderful literature, really; a wonderful read. It sounds like such… fun," he chose the adjective carefully and let it slither out of mouth, still attempting to entice Gabriel to join him. "In fact," he continued after a moment, "I want my own name in this book. I want to be remembered as a part of such a wonderful, destructive religion, so I'm going to test out these stories of theirs and see if their god tries to stop me. If he doesn't it will be obvious that he doesn't really exist, which means that I will easily be able to take his place. Of course, I'll need a right-hand man..." he trailed off invitingly.

Hearing the demon challenge his father so nonchalantly filled Gabriel with an uncontrollable rage. "You're asking the wrong brother," he spat, barely above a whisper due to his anger.

"What was that?"

Before he realized what he was doing, Gabriel's wings were spreading to their furthest, most threatening stance, his halo and eyes were blazing, and his blade was in his hand. The archangel advanced with long strides toward the demon, holding his weapon in a striking position. When he had Beelzebub off the ground and against a tree, he pressed the sharp point of his blade into his throat and reveled in the indisguisable shock and anguish on the demon's face. He allowed himself a moment to gloat his grace, before beginning his threats. Gabriel still did not want to fight, but if he had to now he would.

Leaning in close so his breath could ghost across the demon's flesh, Gabriel growled, "I said, that you are asking the wrong brother, or is that story not in our holy book yet? I am the archangel Gabriel, messenger of God and renegade Heavenly warrior. If you ever mock my father again, I will smite you six ways from Sunday, banish you to Purgatory, and make damn sure that you never rise again. Do you understand?"

"Oh, I understand," Beelzebub answered gravely, "but I'm the following-orders type." His voice was still even, as if one of the strongest creatures in any dimension was not holding a blade to his throat. At the same time, Gabriel felt the demon trembling beneath his grasp, and was thereby not mislead. "I was never hard-wired to be a stupid, little soldier like yourself, angel. My family isn't codependent and dysfunctional like yours," he sneered. His countenance was once again under control, and his eyes danced with mischief and anger.

The blade broke the demon's skin. Gabriel leaned further in to make another threat but was thrown yet again into a tree before he even opened his mouth. Never even disoriented, he took to the air with his powerful wings and dove to attack the demon from the unexpected angel. In the following fight, both beings were beaten badly, but neither tired. Gabriel's grace continually healed him, and Beelzebub's magic provided endless stamina. They traded fewer blows than Gabriel was comfortable with, and quickly the archangel realized that the demon relied on his magic to fight. Gabriel was constantly dodging flames and electricity or being tossed into the air or twisted in impossible directions; however, whenever physical blows connected, the demon faltered.

Gabriel felt his grace tightening around him before he saw Beelzebub's mouth opening in a chant. Assuming Heaven was angry and therefore cutting him off, the archangel felt a new wave of determination wash over him. He charged the demon while he was concentrating on his spell and impaled his angel blade into the demon's ribcage. Beelzebub howled; he melted to the ground and turned into a pile of ash, which seeped into the ground and out of sight. The only remaining traces of the abomination were the blood stains on Gabriel's blade which he immediately wiped clean with the moss of a nearby tree.

Though he had successfully killed his agitator, Gabriel's rage remained. He stalked through the forest of his creation for an unmeasurable amount of time still seething, instantly blasting any creature that crossed his path or disturbed his peace. He was unable to remove that filthy demon's words from his memory. It was going to take many years of carefree fun and pedestal-breaking to clear his mind...

Gabriel was torn out of his memories by a small, terrified, and broken cry. Immediately on his feet, he glanced around the empty street below him before returning to his thoughts. The cry came again moments later, and Gabriel realized that it was inside his head. Castiel was calling him.

_Cassie? Castiel, I'm here!_ he shouted internally.

_I did it, Gabriel,_ Castiel's voice whispered. It sounded like the squeak of a frightened child not the growl of his impressive brother. _I did it. I did as he said. It's begun. What have I done? Oh, brother, what have I done?_ he cried.

Gabriel could hear his broken sobs and knew his brother was breaking down, already being torn apart by grief and self-loathe. He could practically see Castiel curled up in a ball in a corner, hiding his tear-streaked face. Although he desperately wanted to find Castiel, to fly to him and to comfort him, all of his instincts screamed otherwise. Why suddenly was Castiel speaking to him but not showing himself to him? Whether Castiel knew so or not, he was still being used by Beelzebub, and Gabriel was not foolish enough to run directly into the arms of a demon for sentiment.

"And the Brother of the Millennia award goes to yours truly," Gabriel muttered to himself while gracefully alighting from the rooftop.

That was when he noticed it.

The hose spigot attached to the back of the house was dripping a thick, red liquid. The puddle in the driveway from last night's apparent storm was also thick and red. Gabriel flew to another random neighborhood far away and found the same signs – any form of any water was thick and red.

"Well, shit." He recognized this. He knew what it meant – and it both impressed and disturbed him. His next flight brought him directly back to Sam's motel room where the man was still asleep, stiff as a board with his back to the mid-day sun. He ran to the bathroom to try all the taps and found the faucet, shower, and toilet only spewing thick, red liquid.

"Sammy, get your well-formed ass out of bed," Gabriel exclaimed while aggressively shaking him. "I know what he's doing!"

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**AN2:** _I'd also just like to apologize if this chapter sounded forced or choppy. The others practically wrote themselves, but this one was a bit challenging._

**AN3:**_ I am extremely sorry for the amount of errors in this chapter. That was embarrassing. I edited and re-uploaded the chapter. Please, forgive me!_


	7. Chapter 6

**AN:** _Look how fast I got this up! I felt so bad that I made you all wait so long for the last chapter and that I'm going away for a week, so I threw myself into this chapter to finish it in half the time. This chapter might be a bit boring, because it's mostly inner monologue and angst, but I'm proud of it. Plus, I didn't sleep last night to finish it, so appreciate it!_

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There was a large room filled with nothing. The small windows mounted at the very top of the walls allowed for little light, but Dean could still see Castiel standing in front of him, staring at him with a look of utter abhorrence. Another man was present in the room holding a shotgun, but both Dean and Castiel ignored him. The angel said something, but Dean couldn't hear it. Then Dean sank a blade into his Castiel's heart, and he saw nothing more…

There was a room, large but cramped due to its furnishings: a couch against one wall, a desk against another, a rickety table over there, a few chairs, books everywhere. Dean perched on one of the chairs, his feet on the seat, his arms crossed atop the back. Castiel sat stiffly on the desk with his legs crossed and his coat draped behind him. Dean was speaking, and Castiel was wincing. Then his vision blanked again…

There was a tiny, cramped room with only a small, rickety table in the corner. Dean was standing against the wall, leaning in an impassive manner, watching something on the floor in front of him. It was a sniveling mess, a person, and Dean's first instinct was to comfort it, but he found himself kicking it instead. It turned to look at him with huge, glassy electric blue eyes, and Dean felt his stomach twist when he realized it was Castiel…

There was circular room with metal sides. A large gleaming table sat in the center of the room. Sigils were drawn in various mediums along every surface. Castiel was lying on the table, strapped down, not even trying to break free, not struggling at all. From his nonchalant position in the doorframe, Dean felt as if the roles should be reversed for some reason, but the thought was forgotten as he watched in amusement as Castiel put his head down with a heavy thud and sighed in submission. Dean wanted to run to the angel and help him, but instead, he pushed off the wall and approached a table with torture instruments…

There was a forest setting – tall, gloomy trees prevented any light from shining down. Everything around him had a dark grey hue to it. Dean tried to glance around, but he had tunnel vision. His head had never felt heavier, as if he had been the personal punching bag of a pissed off angel. In the small vision he had, he saw a young woman tied to a tree and a man standing before her with balled fists at his sides. There was blood dripping lightly between his fingers and staining his trenchcoat, evidence that he was digging his nails into his palms, maybe fighting something. Dean barked an unintelligible order at the man, and he dutifully though hesitantly raised a dagger and stepped toward her…

There was a cramped room with a lot of clouded, designed glass and tiled walls. A sink and a toilet sat in opposite corners; Dean was perched on the toilet in an awkward, cross-legged position watching a man in a filthy trenchcoat lean on the sink rubbing his face. Laughter bubbled out of Dean's mouth as the man moved to continually bang his head against a shower wall hard enough to crack the glass. Suddenly, he spun on his heel and attacked Dean, but Dean held him off with extreme ease and flung him against the shower wall so that it shattered over him as he fell through. Dean's laughter was the only sound heard…

Once again, Dean woke up to utter darkness. His head was throbbing, and his body was in more pain than ever before. Physically he was completely drained. Overnight he hadn't had a single fluid dream but flashes of random scenes. In all of them, he seemed to be forcing Castiel to do horrific deeds or doing horrific deeds to Castiel. He tried to rake a hand down his face, but couldn't move his arm. With a heavy sigh, Dean stopped trying and accepted that he couldn't move. Whether for lack of strength or fear of pain, he didn't bother fighting for control. He even gave Beelzebub a half-hearted greeting.

Then his heart dropped.

_Not. Dreams. …Fuck!_

The flashes of "dreams" bombarded his mind once again, and the trials he put his angel through deeply astounded Dean in a tremendously unpleasant way. Remembering what he had done to that poor, innocent angel made him want to cry.

_Okay_, Dean reasoned with himself, _so, Castiel's far from innocent, but no one deserves what I did to him._

_No._ Dean's thought-track stopped. _You did not do that to him. The demon did. Beelzebub did. He's only using you. You did nothing. It's not your fault._

_Yes, it's my fault!_ Dean argued. _I was the guy standing behind him the whole time, wasn't I? I was conscious in those moments, wasn't I? I was there! I should have done something! I should never have blacked out in the first place!_

_You couldn't help it,_ the other side of Dean's mind said calmly. _You had to rest. You didn't have the strength to fight him._

_Didn't have the strength my ass!_ The indignant side of Dean was even more enraged now. _It doesn't matter that I didn't have the strength. I should've had the strength! I should've put a stop all of this a long time ago!_

_Yeah, and to do that you would have had to prevent the whole possession thing,_ Dean's calm side pointed out scornfully.

_The whole possession thing?_ Dean mocked himself. _Of course I should have been able to prevent the whole possession thing! I'm a damn hunter. I should've killed the thing before it got anywhere near me! Now my stupidity's hurt people! It's my fault. The demon's not doing everything on his own. He needs me to do it. And who looks at Cas and tells him to do those things, huh? Me. Who does Cas see when he's getting beat up, huh? Me._

Dean's calm side did not answer, so his guilt continued talking: _How many people, huh? How many people has my stupidity hurt now? Cas for one! That poor woman in the forest. I'm disintegrating! Sam probably – Sammy! God only knows what this dickbag did to Sam. Oh, God. Please, Sam. Please be okay. If I'm not okay, if Cas is not okay… God, just please get your absent ass down here in time to save Sam..._

"Shut. Up!" Beelzebub screamed. Instantly calm once again, he said, "I much prefer you in your comatose state, Dean. Would you mind returning to it now?"

_No_, Dean growled out. _I'm awake, and I am staying awake._

Beelzebub sighed heavily. "As much as I love and encourage this guilt trip of yours, I need my concentration now. So if you don't cease your never-ending blubbering of feelings and short-comings, I will cease you."

Dean took the threat to heart. He swallowed thickly and asked, _Wha-what are you doing?_

"Would you like to see?"

_Not really, _Dean said with a biting tone, doing his best to regain his confident and intimidating image, _but, you know, darkness isn't really my thing._

"Then I must ask," Beelzebub replied conversationally, "are mass sacrifices your 'thing'?"

Suddenly, Dean's vision cleared, and he sincerely wished it hadn't. He was standing above a field laden with thousands upon thousands of dead bodies. Old, young, male, female – countless people were piled upon each other at the bottom of an enormous grave, and Castiel stood with blood on his hands and trenchcoat at the head of it all with a shovel in hand. His hair was a filthy mess. His face was covered by dried blood and mud.

Dean's stomach turned and dropped. He wanted to sob. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to break Castiel's face with brass knuckles.

"Yes!" Beelzebub hissed with a dark laugh. "Anger. Anger is good. Keep that! Doesn't it feel good to embrace?" Dean struggled to ignore him, but it was useless. He had no idea what he was angry at anymore, but, oh, was he angry. And when he locked gazes with Castiel, he became lost in a haze of red and black emotion.

Castiel raised his dead eyes from the ground with deliberate leisure. He had smote the last innocent life hours ago. Now he had to get rid of the bodies. The sacrifice had been performed with ease – once Beelzebub had warped Castiel's mind enough. The previous day and nights had seen Castiel outrageously abused. Beelzebub dedicated himself to slowly wearing away Castiel's sanity with emotional trauma. He placed Castiel in his memories, but changed the situation just enough to create a nasty outcome; he played voices in his head; he sent Castiel wayward thoughts. When such tactics did not work, he dug through Castiel's mind to examine and spoil every happy thought he ever had. He cast doubt and shame upon Castiel's relationship with Jimmy Novak. He destroyed Castiel's relationship with his family more so than it already was and banished his father from his thoughts completely.

Then he used fabricated memories of Dean to exaggerate that relationship as well, a torture Beelzebub found the most amusement in. Beelzebub changed Castiel's memories to include fewer conversations, more innuendos, and many more meaningful gazes. At first the angel was sure that the memories were fake, but he had to admit that nothing seemed incredibly different. Castiel was sure that he shared a deep connection with Dean but not a romantic one as the demon suggested; however, after a full day of manipulated memories, Castiel could not ignore the twist in his gut or the tremble in his chest at the thought of Dean. He could also not deny the deepened feelings of animosity and betrayal toward Dean. This man who meant so much to him and who was the first true friend he had ever known, was now his jailor and was now torturing him without mercy.

Castiel had clung to reason for as long as he could. In the beginning, he held onto his grace. But that small, bright speck of Heaven within him was soon mangled beyond recognition and not a strong enough hold for him. Next, he turned to his family and all the truths he had held onto throughout his long life. Yet Beelzebub painfully wrenched all of it away from him. Together, the two options lasted him the night and part of the day, until he latched onto the one thing he believed in most of all – his Righteous Man, his Dean, his charge's beautiful humanity. Even through the mind games and misery, Castiel held fast to that last option he thought he would never give up on.

When the psychological pain was unsuccessful, or even between bouts of success, Beelzebub would grin and turn to physical pain. Combined with the excruciating thoughts he was receiving, the sight of Dean beating him into a bloody and broken pulp was almost enough to break Castiel. The positively gleeful expression that spread across his beautiful features as his fists sailed into Castiel's jaw was despicable. The pure happiness in his laughter when Castiel moaned and whimpered was sickening. Slowly but surely, Castiel became convinced that Dean was already dead, and that is what fully, finally broke Castiel.

The angel did not see life as worth living if Dean was not a part of it.

So, he conceded. He killed that first innocent, albeit hesitantly and sloppily, in the forest. He described to Beelzebub the ritual and sacrifice needed to make all water run as blood. He aided in rounding up the innocent victims. He himself performed the killings while Beelzebub read the incantation. When it was finished, he collapsed onto the ground, hugged his knees tight, and sent a last-ditch, desperate message to Gabriel. He did not show Gabriel the field around him out of both humiliation and fear. Fully aware that he had broken in only two nights and a day, Castiel hoped Gabriel would understand the severity of his situation.

Now, he had been given a shovel and told to dig. Beelzebub knew as well as Castiel that the angel could easily dig and cover a mass grave with the twitch of a finger, but Beelzebub was still playing games, still wanted him to suffer. He had ordered Castiel not to use his angelic abilities a long time ago, and the binding therefore prevented it. So Castiel stood with dead eyes looking up at the man he once revered – no, at the demon who tore him apart – with dead eyes in complete obedience. At first, the shovel strokes felt good. Castiel took his anger out on the ground; he tried to put the ground through as much pain as he was going through. Dirt flew in every direction. Cracks appeared in the shovel as it was smashed with too much force against stones. Castiel's sore muscles screamed, but he barely noticed. The only thing he could do was take out his rage on the soil beneath him.

When the time came to pick up each body and toss them into hole, Castiel was in a slightly better frame of mind. His wrath and agony had cleared enough for his guilt and depression to settle in. He apologized profusely as he handled each body and prayed for each soul as he laid them gently in the grave. He felt another strong urge to break down in self-pity and self-hate, but he swallowed it down and continued his job. His muscles practically refused to function when lifted the shovel again to cover the enormous hole, but he eventually succeeded. At the first light of the third day of Dean's affliction and the second day of Castiel's servitude, Castiel heard slow applause from the hill looking down on him with such malicious judgment. There Beelzebub stood, praising his 'fine work', as proud as a father at his son's graduation. Any words he said were lost on Castiel. The angel was only looking at, earnestly searching for a trace of his Dean buried somewhere behind those black eyes.

Before he even registered the flight, Castiel found himself standing in the motel room again, with Dean leaning on his shoulder as if they were old friends. Castiel shrugged him off and took several steps away. For the briefest of moments, Castiel swore he saw Dean's eyes return to their wonderful green shade, but when he blinked, they were pure black again. Still, that half-second of doubt gave him renewed courage.

"So, Castiel," Beelzebub began. His name still sounded mangled and corrupted rolling off his tongue. "Did you have as much fun as I did tonight?"

Castiel's vision was green. He did not answer.

Undeterred, Beelzebub asked, "Are you ready for round two?"

"No," Castiel spat, his voice strong and clear for the first time since everything began.

"More fun for me then," Beelzebub replied, but Castiel didn't care anymore. He had seen those green rings, and it was enough for renewed resistance.


	8. Chapter 7

**AN:** _Today I offer you comic relief, especially after the last two chapters. If anything seems weird about this chapter, blame the beach. While my face did its best impression of Larry the Lobster, my brain created this for you. All errors are the fault of my phone since I was too eager to post and didn't wait to fix it on a proper computer_.

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Sam stared in anger at the arguing angels. If he wasn't so aggravated he would be breathless in laughter. Short and stocky Gabriel was red in the face on his tip-toes screaming at tall and lanky Balthazar who was looking down at the archangel with annoyance and amusement. They had been at each other's throats for well over an hour. The fight started because Balthazar had taken his time answering Gabriel's call, not appearing for a full three hours after the summoning. It continued because Balthazar completely blamed Gabriel for Castiel's "predicament" as he put it. At this point, Sam wasn't even sure what they were arguing about. It seemed to be about a course of action, but blame and old scores were still being thrown around. Finally, the man had enough. He forced his way between the two angels and tried to force each of them back with a hand to the chest, but they were as solid as brick walls. When they realized he was there, they quieted down and turned their disgusted expressions on him.

"Before the two of you kill each other with your fierce words and toddler attitudes alone," Sam's voice was even, but his face was pure determined rage, "can we save Dean and Cas?"

Gabriel pivoted on his toes and once again paced the room. Sam had given up telling him to stop. Balthazar plopped gracefully onto the nearest bed, folding his legs and resting his chin on his hands. He kept his eyes trained on the archangel. The cease-fire could at least be heard, even if the tension still required a cerated knife.

"Now," Sam began, his voice dangerously calm. "Where the hell have you been?" he hollered. Someone in the next room banged hard on the wall and shouted something about decency. Sam rolled his eyes and continued, though in a lower voice. "Gabriel disappears for two days and comes back with one of the sketchiest angels we know, the water turns into blood during my shower - which Balthazar magically fixes - there are frogs all over the damn place, and Cas and Dean are completely off the grid. Will one of you explain anything to me?" As if to agree, a frog hopped on the bed and ribbet'd loudly.

"How many times do I have to say sorry, Sammich?" Gabriel groaned in exasperation. "I went out to think."

"And disappeared for an entire day!"

Gabriel clutched his back and made a face of discomfort. "Don't get old, Sammy," he said, rubbing his temple, "at my age, the wheels don't turn as fast."

"Your wheels never turned slowly," Balthazar scoffed under his breath.

"Oh, and yours turn at all, Mr. Steal-Heaven's-Arsenal-And-Walk-Out-The-Front-Door ?" Gabriel retorted, straightening into an indignant stance.

"There's no need to be jealous now, you strapping messenger you."

"Excuse you, thief, but I am not jealous. That was the stupidest thing anyone up there has ever done, and-"

"And it was the largest heist, and you wanted in," Balthazar finished smugly. His wide innocent eyes bore into Gabriel's.

Gabriel was ready to reply, but Sam cut in, "You are both two-year-olds, I swear to God. You're worse than Dean! Now, shut up, buck up, and one of you explain to me why the hell there is a frog in my hair!"

The angels turned to look at him and burst into hysterics. There was indeed a frog hanging onto Sam's luscious hair. It looked like it had slid off the man's head but gotten stuck. There was also a frog on his shoulder and three on his duffle. Balthazar had several around him on the bed, one on his shoulder, and one on his knees, but he seemed to not notice. None of the frogs were near Gabriel since he was shooting them with little pebbles and a sling shot every time they approached him. The bathroom, as the nearest water source, was overrun by frogs, and the main floor was littered with them.

After a long string of choice words and a lot of hair-whipping, the frog and a large chunk of brown locks sailed across the room into Gabriel's face. Balthazar laughed even harder as Sam caressed the back of his head and Gabriel screamed about slime and filth.

"You act like you've never seen a plague before, Gabriel!" the lower-ranked angel laughed, clutching his side. "I take it all back - you're hysterical!"

Sam's head left his hands in less than a second. "Plague?" he asked excitedly.

"Well, yes," Balthazar confirmed with an eye roll, "and our boy here announced the last one like this; don't let the Bible fool you."

"And when was that?" Sam asked, too excited about finally getting answers to think himself.

While still shooting daggers at Balthazar with his eyes, Gabriel mocked, "Why just last month or don't you remember, Samsquatch?"

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, telling himself that it was five o'clock somewhere. As he opened his computer, he practically shouted, "Egypt!"

"Golly gee, Balthy," Gabriel exclaimed, "tell him what he's won!"

"Please let it be an angel blade," Sam breathed.

"So homicidal, Sammy," Gabriel remarked. "I truly bring the best out of you, don't I?"

Sam fought the urge to break the archangel's nose. Instead, he opened the internet and started a new search.

"Yes, Egypt," Balthazar sighed. "God sent the last frog plague to punish those lazy asses. Honestly, I think it was more out of jealousy than caring for his people, but that's between us," he added using a hand to hide his words from Gabriel.

The archangel looked ready to scream again, so Sam pressed on: "And the water to blood..."

"Is plague numero uno," Balthazar completed his sentence.

"Frogs are number two, so number three is... Locusts?"

"Ahh, close, but it's actually lice. Locusts are later," Balthazar corrected in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Okay, but why is God rehashing the plagues now? I know humanity sucks, but we can't deserve this," Sam thought aloud.

"Sam, you don't really think this is God, do you?" Gabriel asked with a heavily judgmental look that questioned Sam's sanity.

"You think Beelzebub is doing this?" the man asked quickly.

"With Cassie's help he can probably pull off any destructive act in the Bible," Balthazar said thoughtfully. "Well, at least anything without specific players. I mean, he can't reenact Michael and Lucifer's fight, for example. Though, he could cast Castiel into Hell to join those two by the end of all this."

"Well, that's just wonderful," Sam stuttered sarcastically. "How do we stop them?"

"Stop them? Are you insane?" Balthazar asked.

For once, Gabriel agreed with his brother. "Sam, that'll be like stopping the apocalypse. There are ten plagues! He'll probably do them in order, yeah, but we need to be in the same place at the same time with the right equipment. We don't know where they are now or if they stay there to wreak havoc. They could be flying to the friggin' North Pole for all we know!"

"Besides that, I think I'll state the obvious," Balthazar added. "It's bloody dangerous! Once a plague is started, it doesn't stop. And you do not get in between a plague and it's creator. That's like jumping into a lake as it's struck by lightning!"

"Then what can we do?" Sam asked, with a heavy groan of frustration.

"Clean up," Balthazar stated grimly.

"'Clean up'?" Sam repeated, doing his best to reign in his anger. "How the hell are we supposed to accomplish that? Does your angel mojo have a frog-catching feature?"

"I don't know, Samantha, I think I missed that update," Gabriel mocked. "I'll go check my archives." He smited a frog that hopped too close to him.

Sam's expression grew exasperated, and he groaned again. Gabriel tried to continue but a sudden thought struck Sam, and practically screamed, "How are we supposed to 'clean up' after the Angel of Death? He's the last plague, isn't he?"

The people next door pounded on the wall again. Balthazar rolled his eyes and compared the situation to an old, over-dramatic movie that made him want to retch. Gabriel hung his head and took a deep breath. He fixed Sam with a glare until the man calmed down.

"Oh, Sammy, put the bitchface away. Look, I have an idea, alright? Just hear me out. I spent a whole day thinking about it, remember?"

"What?" Sam snapped. He tried to look at Gabriel with pure hatred but interest and relief mingled there, too.

"This one," he jerked his thumb violently toward Balthazar, "needs to tell us where his stash is. There are weapons that can help us clean up each mess. Also, I know a way to bind the Angel of Death, but I need something he stole to do it."

"No," Balthazar refused quickly and simply.

"Are you kidding me?" Gabriel shouted. "So you're just going to let the world burn because you're afraid of an archangel?" In his anger, his eyes flared and several frogs died mysteriously.

"Who says I'm afraid you?" Balthazar scoffed.

"Raphael," Gabriel corrected angrily. Another frog was smote.

"Oh, yeah, him. I'd rather not get on his bad side, you know? Besides, who said I'm working for you two? I was summoned here against my will, and you haven't let me leave yet. Doesn't mean I'm with you in this."

"Seriously? You could honestly do that?" Sam asked wearily, looking up again.

"Do what?" Balthazar asked with wide eyes.

"Not help," Sam clarified, standing up to give his words more power. "Just sit back and watch as one of your brothers - a friend actually, as Cas considers you - is forced to destroy his home? I mean, if it was just Dean in this then fine. I'd wouldn't force you. But this is Castiel! The guy thinks you're his friend! You owe it to him to help. If I've heard the story right, you're in his debt."

The room was silent. Balthazar looked like he had been slapped. Sam turned back to his laptop, trying hard to conceal his smirk as he counted his victory. Gabriel's head swung back and forth between the two of them, enjoying the show. It was a short time before Gabriel spoke again to explain the rest of his half-formed plan.

He needed the Staff of Moses and the blood of a lamb, but, of course, there were specificities. The binding required the hooked head of the staff and the blood of only an Egyptian lamb. To perform the binding, Sam - because apparently there was fine print against angels - would have to put the lamb blood on his front door, say a paragraph of Enochian, and hook the Angel of Death with the staff before he flew away. To Sam, it didn't even sound simple. Gabriel rattled it off as if it was third grade math, and Balthazar nodded, adding small details. Sam just shook his head wearily - at least he as getting useful information now.

"Okay, so, let's do it then," Sam said after a pause. "Where's the staff? And how are we getting the blood?"

Sam looked to Gabriel earnestly. Gabriel looked at Balthazar pointedly. Balthazar looked at his feet sheepishly.

"Alright," he said finally, feeling the pressure of two pairs of eyes on him, "I'll get you the staff." He stood and glared at Gabriel, but neither the archangel or the man could take the dramatic action seriously as they watched frogs roll off of him. "But I'm going alone and coming back with it tomorrow. I'll get something for the frogs, too, and send it to you via the pony express." He turned to fly away but stopped to look at Sam one more time. "And before you get any ideas about putting me on speed-dial know that I am not the Giles to your Buffy. This is a one time offer. I'm doing this for Castiel and Castiel only."

Then he was gone. Sam turned to Gabriel looking nervous. The archangel waved him off.

"Oh, come on, Sammy, don't tell me that whole show was just bravado!" Gabriel laughed. When Sam didn't join in he added, "Sam, if you didn't stand up to him like that, he definitely would not have helped us. You did good kid."

"Right," Sam sighed. He sat down with his computer again and renewed his search on frogs, looking for absolutely anything that would get rid of the huge swarm of them.

"So!" Gabriel clapped his hands and looked around, his lip curling at all the frogs. "Now that we have a plan of sorts, and we're waiting on that sleazebag of an angel, the two of us should go celebrate."

"What?" Sam asked, confused by the sudden and complete change of thought. "Gabriel, we have work to do!"

"Oh, come on! You promised me dessert, remember?" the age-old archangel whined.

"Well, yeah, b-"

"Exactly!" Gabriel beamed, interrupting Sam before he could voice a counter-argument. "Come on, I know a great place in Sammamish."

"Sammamish? Isn't that... But, Gabe, we're nowhere near Washington!" Sam protested weakly.

"Who cares? Hey, Sammykins treating me to dessert Sammamish. Now, that's priceless."

Sam grumbled but consented. Before he knew what was happening, Gabriel was holding his elbow in the back parking lot of an ice cream shop. Once Sam's queasiness passed, he followed Gabriel around the building to the front door. The archangel was practically running, his gait caught between a jog and a skip. Sam easily kept a brisk pace beside him, trying to ignore the obvious awkwardness of the situation. A homely-looking young waitress led them to a table next to the kitchen. Sam's legs bounced restlessly beneath it while Gabriel acted as if nothing odd was happening at all. A few minutes later, Gabriel ordered a burger, a fancy salad, two sodas, and one huge plate of fries and onion rings, not letting Sam get a word in. When the food came, Sam was hesitant.

"Oh, please, Sam," Gabriel sighed in frustration, picking up his burger. "I haven't done anything to it. Stop imagining all the different tricks I could've done because as fun as that would be, I'm not in the mood. All I want to do is enjoy a meal with a person I am considering about considering a friend." He took a bite of his food as if to end the discussion. Sam took a small forkful of his salad and was amazed by how good it was.

"So," he said after a while. "How've you been?"

"Alright," Gabriel said while chewing. "You?"

"Alright," Sam returned. Another silence. "So, why aren't you and Balthazar friends? I kinda always thought you would be."

"Me be friends with that dick?" Gabriel barked laugh. "No, thank you."

Sam took a sip of his drink and waited, but Gabriel did not elaborate. "How was it returning to Heaven after so long?" the man finally asked.

"Well," Gabriel replied slowly, taking a long drink, "prison didn't exactly do wonders for my complexion."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Gabe-"

"Hey, you asked!" Gabriel said, raising an eyebrow.

"But that's not what I-" Sam tried to explain to himself.

"Bullcrap, Sam. Yes, it is."

Sam stopped, defeated, and returned his attention to his food.

"Castiel tried to get me to talk, too. I don't want to," Gabriel stated firmly. "Don't try to be a psychiatrist. Don't try to make me." Sam agreed quietly and apologized, but Gabriel kept talking. "If I shared the horrors Michael put me through, you would need a psychiatrist, too. Besides, the point of this little outing was therapy in my own way."

Sam nodded again and took another drink. The man tried to ease the tension by sharing a few stories of his and Dean's hunting trips. Gabriel was constantly laughing at how much more difficult the boys made the jobs when they could've been simple kills. Sam filed away every tip Gabriel shared for future use and asked about every job Gabriel let slip that he had done. Apparently, the trickster had done more than set up college students with aliens while on his own for so long. When the waitress came back to clear the plates, Gabriel did not let Sam order his own ice cream either. At some point unbeknownst to Sam, the awkward situation had become a comfortable meal between friends. Sam paid for everything, and the two left the shop smiling. Of course, the awkwardness returned when Gabriel flew them to a strip club next; but Sam let him have his fun for a while and decided that indulging a little himself wouldn't be such a horrible thing, especially with the coming plagues and stress.

The archangel and the man finally returned to the motel room at half past three in the morning. They found a wrapped package on the bed but no frogs, which sobered Sam almost instantly. Gabriel pushed him back onto the bed and insisted he sleep while Gabriel took care of the rest of the frogs. The last thing Sam remembered was making Gabriel promise not to disappear for an entire day again.

* * *

**AN2:** _Just a disclaimer - I only ship Sam and Gabriel as friends and absolutely nothing more. Destiel is definitely coming though._

**AN3: **_ Oh, one more thing - I don't know that many old movies, so if anyone wants to send me ideas and hypothetical situations and such for Balthazar's character, I'd really appreciate it. Also, thank you to my few reviewers. I love feedback!_


	9. Chapter 8

**AN:** _So, this chapter is mostly the result of insomnia. I hope it makes sense and it's not too weird. A healthy dose of destiel occurs..._

* * *

The frogs had been an accident.

Castiel had been strong, was still strong, but he had unwittingly played into Beelzebub's hands. The frog had been on the bed in a tiny, plastic cage with a purple lid as if Beelzebub had bought it from a pet store. Seeing the poor thing in captivity, knowing it was destined for a horrible ritual, Castiel had to save it - so, he flew away with it, not thinking first about the overwhelming ease or possible trap. With a soft, short prayer, Castiel let it hop free of its cage into the nearest pond. Of course, his grace had almost been ripped to shreds by the expedition, but he battled through it for the sake of the frog and the world.

Castiel didn't know that Beelzebub had already performed the ritual and needed the frog to be let loose for the plague to manifest - that was the trap he hadn't cared to anticipate.

Now, he sat on the ledge of a bridge with Deans's arm around his shoulders questioning his choices and wishing he had never been sent to save Dean from Hell in the first place. Why couldn't Uriel have done it? He had been Uriel's superior; he easily could have ordered the other angel to go in his place. The traitor died already anyway. Dean would still be in Castiel's charge, but their bond would not be quite as strong. None of this would have happened because there wouldn't have been any special feelings preventing Castiel from doing his duty.

'Special feelings.'

Castiel scoffed at his own word choice. Of course he had special feelings for Dean, and if Beelzebub's psychological torture had taught him anything, it was how strong those feelings were. He had raised the man from Hell; had fought through legions of demons simply to reach him; had stitched him back together, piece by agonized piece. It was no wonder then why he had very carefully cloaked many of Dean's worst memories of Hell; had remained steadfast by the man's side to help and protect him; had proudly and stupidly defied Heaven, his home, for Dean's sake. After all, the man, with all his many faults, was exceptional. He was strong in body, mind, and spirit. Although lately a pessimist who cared not for his own sake, Dean went to extraordinary lengths to protect the precious few he called his family. The precious few Castiel was honored to be one of. Though he might be biased by his trip to Hell, Castiel truly believed Dean's soul was the most beautiful, honest, and purest soul he had ever seen.

Yes, Castiel had special feelings for Dean, had always had special feelings for Dean, and he was most definitely not ashamed of them.

However, he knew that they were the reason he and Dean were in this mess now. They were the reason Castiel couldn't find the strength to smite Beelzebub when he had the chance. He had been too weak to fight because he had been too afraid to hurt Dean. Even when Dean had been strong and ordered Castiel to do so, he couldn't. At the time, he thought Dean was only being stupidly heroic again, but he now saw that Dean had been justifiably self-sacrificing.

On this bridge, Castiel was afraid of Beelzebub's next move. Not for what Beelzebub might make him do, but, of course, for what Beelzebub might do to Dean, or worse, what Beelzebub might make him do to Dean. It barely registered in Castiel's mind that he himself was on the ledge, too. All he felt was Dean's relaxed body beside him, slouching and swaying ever so slightly forward. Castiel would throw himself off the bridge right now, if it meant breaking Dean's fall.

Surely that was the point of Beelzebub's latest test anyway?

"What a wonderful thought process you have there, Castiel," Beelzebub purred. "You give an entirely new meaning to the term 'lovebird'."

Castiel did not respond. Instead, he focused on the sensation of Dean's arm around his back and Dean's weight pressing against his side. He wanted to shrink away from the demon but to push closer to Dean at the same time.

"I'd be careful how hard you try, lovebird," Beelzebub warned. "You are on the edge after all."

Whereas Castiel heard the double meaning to the statement, Dean only took the sentence at face-value. When Beelzebub turned to look lazily at Castiel, Dean saw the devotion written plainly on the angel's face, but did not comprehend how deeply the devotion was rooted. He wanted to reach out and pat Castiel's shoulder, assure him that everything would be fine, but he still couldn't do anything. He could only draw strength from Castiel's unfaltering faith in him and do his best to fight back.

While Beelzebub was distracted by digging through Castiel's head, Dean took his opportunity to seize control. He couldn't see inside Castiel's head, after all; that was a privilege Beelzebub would never bestow upon him. Dean was in the dark, so he might as well try. He gathered all of his scant strength, energy, and concentration and pushed against Beelzebub's overwhelming presence. As soon as he started, he felt progress so unlike any other time he tried. It gave him confidence, and he shoved harder in the opposite direction of Castiel, just in case, fighting the blackness that began to cloud his thoughts. He ignored the fatigue and strain settling in and fought.

Beelzebub snapped out of Castiel's head to focus on the mutiny, but he was so caught off-guard that Dean had the advantage. Castiel felt Beelzebub's conscious aggressively jerk from his mind, and he focused on Dean as well. His eyes narrowed with hope and alarm as he scrutinized Dean's face, screwed up in both concentration and pain, for a hint at what was happening. The man's eyes were closed, so he could not tell who was winning.

Finally, after what felt to Castiel like an eon, Dean panted, "Cas? Cas, please tell me it's still you and not some robo-angel in a trenchcoat."

"Yes, it is me!" he replied, grabbing Dean into a frantic embrace.

The quick movements disrupted their careful balance on the ledge, and they tumbled down; but Castiel's wings had faster reflexes than Dean's trigger finger. Instead of crashing into the lazy water below, they fell together onto a less than comfortable motel mattress.

The first sensation Castiel felt as he gazed down at the man beneath him was relieved happiness. Dread gripped him next as he realized the toll this stretch of control would take on Dean. Then, he was overcome by fear again as he thought of what torture Beelzebub was inflicting at the very moment to regain control. However, as he watched Dean pant heavily beneath him with those beautiful, wide, green eyes, Castiel felt the overwhelming urge to not only help Dean defeat Beelzebub but also to show Dean his affection in some way. His eyes were drawn to the man's lips, and, by reflex, his tongue darted out to moisten his own pale, chapped lips.

He was about to fall off the ledge Beelzebub had teased of.

Dean very slowly came into himself again. He first blinked several times simply because he was able to. Castiel's attack of an embrace was a welcome shock. Before he could ascertain where exactly they were, they were falling, and suddenly, Castiel was slumped on top of him, arms holding himself barely a foot above Dean on a motel bed. His eyes and mouth widened in pain when Beelzebub began attacking again, but before a scream could break forth, Castiel crashed down on him to silence him.

The odd part was that the angel wasn't using his hand to smother Dean's mouth.

Utterly confused, shocked, and scared, Dean was too weak to fight Castiel off. His arms lifted to bat Castiel away, but the angel was much too solid and strong for him in his incapacitated state. He wasn't even doing anything anyway. His mouth was firmly pressed against Dean's, and he was oddly opening and closing it, but it was obvious he had no idea what to do. Still, it was something for Dean to focus on other than the pain, and he was grateful. As creepy as it was to kiss his best friend, he went with it and guided Castiel through the kiss.

Steadily, the pain in his gut from Beelzebub's assault dwindled in the place of a swirling, giddy feeling, almost like nervous butterflies. Beelzebub's presence in Dean's head was generally becoming smaller and smaller. When he could barely feel any pain at all, Dean realized that one of Castiel's hands had found its way to his forearm to cover the angelic handprint there and his other was resting lightly beneath his shirt on his chest above both his heart and mangled anti-possession tattoo. The angel was healing and branding him at the same time, simultaneously pushing Beelzebub away and cleaning up the mess he had made of Dean.

With huge, grateful eyes, Dean gently pulled out of the kiss to stare at Castiel in awe. The angel's eyes were closed and his mouth hung open for a second or two before he became aware of his surrounding once again. He pulled Dean off the bed and stood beside him, extremely embarrassed yet continuing to disregard Dean's personal space.

"Cas...tiel?" Dean asked very slowly. His voice was rough, and his eyes searched the angel's.

"Dean," Castiel responded in a gruffer voice than usual. He took a deep breath and a step back before he met Dean's eyes.

"What was that?" Dean asked softly. He had no idea why he was being so gentle. Maybe it was the grace still warming his insides.

"I believe it is called a kiss," Castiel answered in that obvious tone of voice.

"Well, yeah, but why?" Dean asked, a little less gentle, more himself. "Next your gonna tell me you learned that from the babysitter," he added more to himself. "Oh, please tell me you didn't learn that from Meg!"

"It was to help you fight off Beelzebub," Castiel said stiffly. He hesitantly added, "And... because it felt pleasurable." He hesitated again. "And, yes, I did learn it from the babysitter."

Dean huffed a long sigh and raked a hand across his face. "Damn, I need to get you laid!" he muttered.

He could feel Beelzebub hacking and slicing away at him from the inside, but with the grace working to heal him, he felt very little of Beelzebub's aggression. The grace was not only healing him, but searing the demon as well. With a sick sense of approval, Dean listened to and felt Beelzebub writhe inside him, desperate to avoid the angelic essence. Regardless, Dean knew he couldn't hold out for very long and that there would be excruciating consequences when he did fall again, but at the moment, he didn't care. The slowly-fading grace was making this very easy for him, and all he wanted to do right now was focus on Castiel.

"Cas," Dean began, voice thick, gaze averted, "I'm so sorry, man. The things I've done to you. That I've let him do to you."

"Dean," Castiel's voice was calm and sure, "you haven't done anything to me. It's all been him." He stared directly at Dean, wishing the man would look up and find his determined sincerity, but Dean went on as if he didn't hear the angel.

"I've been passing out every ten minutes-"

"It's understandable, Dean."

"-and I can't stop him, man. I'm so sorry-"

"Dean, you haven't done anything wrong."

"-because I just keep waking up to these horrible scenes-"

"Dean, you need to calm down."

"-where something bad is happening to you, and I can't do it anymore-"

"Dean, you're not the one doing it."

"So, you've gotta help me, Cas-"

"Obviously, Dean, but-"

"-you've got to stop me before-"

"Dean, nothing is going to-"

"-before I hurt anyone else or-"

"Dean, you're not the one hur-"

"-or hurt you-"

"Dean, you're not the one hurting me."

"-or kill you-" Castiel did not know how to interject there so he bit his lip hard and let Dean finish. "-like he plans to."

Dean finally met Castiel's eyes again with a wide, earnest, incredibly desperate gaze that replaced Castiel's composure with a vicious mix of anger and fear. Whatever he knew or had seen of Beelzebub's plans terrified Dean, and it pained Castiel to see. During his rant, Beelzebub took advantage of his harried emotional state. Suddenly, the wonderful, calming grace was almost diminished, and Dean felt himself skidding back into blind madness.

Castiel swallowed past the odd feeling in his throat and forced his voice to remain even as he said, "Dean. Stop. You are not to blame for this." He gripped Dean's shoulders tight and searched his face until Dean's gaze locked on his once more, but Dean was no longer fully present. The words danced past his ears being heard but not comprehended.

"Dean," Castiel continued, "it is not your fault that Beelzebub's strength is the level it is. You've never been possessed before. No one expects you to defeat him like this." Dean stared into Castiel's eyes with an expression half-panicked and half-dead.

"Dean?" Castiel tried to get a response, beginning to panic as well. "Dean!"

When the man didn't respond, he backhanded him across the face hard enough to stun but not damage. As his hand returned to Dean's shoulder, Castiel noticed a red splotch on his knuckle. Under closer examination the splotch proved to be bloody skin. Castiel's attention darted back to Dean's face, and he saw a peel in his cheek; only a minor injury but a horrible sign all the same.

Castiel swore he heard malicious laughter and taunts in his head. He closed his eyes tightly and fought to steady his breathing. The last thing he needed now was to lose his mind when it seemed to be the only thing in the room working.

Dean barely felt the slap. The past few days had involved so much physical pain on his receiving behalf that a small flick like that did not register the way Castiel intended. Rather, the minuscule itch it presented to Dean only helped him slip further away. Somehow, Beelzebub had found a new way to besiege him and was starting small. The demon was going to work up to the truly painful acts. He wanted Dean numb first, so that it stung all the more when he wasn't prepa-

Castiel kissed Dean again. It was gentle but commanding. He knew what he was doing now.

Dean's thoughts came to an abrupt halt. His eyes snapped back into focus at this completely new form of assault. It was tender instead of caustic and hardly lasted half a minute, but it worked. Dean's hands were suddenly searching for something to latch onto, something solid. They fisted the sleeves of Castiel's trenchcoat because, somehow, the flimsy material was the sturdiest thing in the room.

"Dean. Dean, I'm right here." He nodded stiffly, and Castiel couldn't tell if he was really listening or just acting on instinct, but he hoped for the former.

"Calm down and listen to me." Dean did not respond, so Castiel slapped him again, lighter than the first time, but accidentally dragging away more skin. "Dean?"

Dean set his jaw and nodded. He blinked away the haze in his mind and fully focused on his angel.

"Thank you," Castiel breathed, visibly relaxing just slightly. "I don't think I need to explain to you the importance of our quick actions?" Dean shook his head in a short, firm movement that proved to Castiel he was back. It almost overjoyed the angel.

"Thank you," he breathed again. "First, you need to stop fighting him. Do you understand me? Stop fighting."

Dean's forehead creased in confusion. "What? No! Cas, I can't stop. I can't! He'll come back. He-he'll kill you!"

"Dean," Castiel gritted his teeth, "do you trust me?"

"Of course, Cas, but-"

Castiel squeezed the brand on Dean's upper arm again, and the swirling feeling of grace was renewed in a stronger force. "Then stop arguing and listen," he seethed.

Dean nodded once more, and the taught muscles in his face unclenched. His body relaxed, though he maintained his battle stance. Castiel watched the progress with the smallest of smiles.

"Good. Now, we need to contact your brother. Your phone, where is it?"

Dean nodded yet again, easily taking the orders. At the thought of Sammy, he practically ran to his jacket draped on the motel chair and dug through his pockets for his phone. Upon finding it, he held it up triumphantly to show Castiel, but wiped the grin off his own face and dialed a second later.


	10. Chapter 9

**AN:**_ Okay! I am so, so, so sorry about the insane delay! I'm afraid I don't have anything very long to offer either... I blame school. You know, that stupid place I'm trapped in for ten hours a day, five days a week, that started last Thursday (for me at least)?_

* * *

Sam stared at his phone in nervous disbelief. He let it ring several times until Gabriel took charge and answered:

"What do you want, Bottom-Feeding Smoke Cloud?"

Dean didn't answer while he enabled the speaker phone. The voice that answered was not his brother, but he recognized it all the same.

"Aren't you dead? God, what's the point of an angel blade these days? Damn, it's good to hear from you, Gabriel."

There was yet another pause. "Dean?" the archangel asked tentatively.

"Yeah?"

"Damn, it's good to hear from you, too," he told the older Winchester. He shouted at the younger one, "He recognized me right off, you ungrateful shit!"

Dean and Castiel could hear accented laughter and indignant squawks in the background. When they identified the third member of the motley crew both were confused.

"Sammy, is that you?"

"Yeah, Dean. Yeah, it's me! Is that... Is that really you?"

"For the most part... at the moment. Is that Balthazar with you?"

"Uh, yeah," he confirmed as if confused himself.

"Always so eager to hear from me, Dean!" the British angel commented, but his smile fell almost immediately. "Believe me, I don't want to be here any more than you want me here."

"Actually, Balthazar..." Dean said quickly, "thanks. ...For the help," he clarified, "which I hope more than assume you're doing?"

"Oh, well, you're welcome, I suppose," Balthazar drawled. "Still," he cleared his throat, "I'm only here for Castiel. So, what the bloody hell have you done to him?"

"He has done nothing at all," Castiel interjected, snatching the phone out of Dean's hand.

"Cassie?" the two angels shouted at the same time.

"Yes." Castiel said shortly. He ignored the questions shrieking through the phone and instead turned to Dean. "You should leave," he suggested more than ordered. "You need to leave," he corrected himself, his tone at once stiff and commanding. He set his expression and locked his jaw to match the tome and put faux-power into his words. Castiel wanted to see Dean leave as much as Dean wanted to be left alone with the demon.

Dean was about to protest when Beelzebub needled him particularly hard through grace shield. He understood why he had to leave, but he didn't have to like it. He was in control for the time being, but that control was not a very stable. Besides that, Beelzebub could hurt him whether he was in control or not. If the two were left alone, there was no telling what he would do. Dean certainly wasn't fit for any more physical abuse, but he knew his mind could still go a few rounds. If Castiel sent him out the door now, Beelzebub would have a field day ripping open his deep reserves of self -hate, -doubt, and -pity, not to mention his trust and family issues. Really, his head was a ticking pipe bomb, and he didn't know why the demon hadn't taken full advantage of it yet.

Still, Beelzebub's not so subtle reminder of his unwanted presence was exactly that – the painful reminder he needed to shelf his own objections and complaints and put the safety of his family first. How could he care so much about the damage Beelzebub would do to him after all the damage he had already done to Castiel? Not to mention, the hell Sam must be going through without knowing if his older brother was alright and living with two wack-a-doo angels. With a solemn nod, Dean turned to leave but not without a desperate look toward Castiel before placing his hand on the doorknob. He was determined to protect his family yet still overwhelmingly afraid for himself.

He had to hand it to Beelzebub – the demon had really instilled the fear of, well, the devil into him.

"You'll be fine," Castiel assured him, easily reading Dean's inner turmoil. The voices on the other end of the phone were silent now. Everyone was eavesdropping.

Dean protested, "But you told me–" he stopped himself and met Castiel's eyes. "But I can't fight him."

Castiel set down the phone and crossed the room quickly. He gripped Dean's shoulder once again to refresh the grace and proceeded to place a soft, quick kiss on Dean's lips. "That should hold for the length of our discussion."

Dean almost let his disappointment show when Castiel pulled away, but he smoothly masked it with discomfort. He didn't want to lead Castiel on or hurt him in the long run, so the only path Dean saw was to hurt him quick and fast before it could accumulate to anything more – however, what he was afraid of accumulating, Dean wasn't sure. Instead, he argued that grace or no grace he shouldn't be trusted to be left alone and especially not outside.

"No," Castiel decided, sharing Dean's thoughts. "It's not safe for you outside." Dean stupidly allowed a bubble of hope to form in his chest, which Beelzebub popped with a particularly sharp pin. Castiel tightly gripped Dean's shoulder, sharing his grace along the way, and dragged Dean into the bathroom instead. He pushed Dean onto the floor in the shower stall and spoke down to him, "You shouldn't be left completely alone with it in a position that might end badly. Stay here."

As the angel locked the door behind him, Dean couldn't help wondering if that little display had two meanings. Beelzebub was happy to offer insanitary suggestions, and Dean couldn't deny that the display had excited him just a bit. _What is happening to me?_ Dean groaned.

When Castiel thought the room was secure, he returned to phone. He disabled the speaker and held it to his ear as he sat on the bed with his eyes trained on the bathroom door.

Gabriel knew is brother was on the other line again without being told, so he joked, "Wow, Cassie, don't you know it woulda been easier to lock him in the closet?"

Sam smacked the archangel particularly hard as Balthazar laughed and Castiel stated, "But there are no closets in this motel room, and the bathroom would be much more comfortable in any case."

All three on the other end rolled their eyes but didn't say anything, so Castiel continued. "Dean is not a prisoner or some untrustworthy fiend."

"Then what was that all about?" Sam asked.

"Just because Dean is currently in control does not mean Beelzebub is completely incapacitated. At this moment, he fights to regain Dean's body. If he were to hear our conversation and strategy, it would all be of wasted effort."

"But now Dean is out of the loop," Sam pointed out.

"It's for the best, Sam," Gabriel assured him. "Dean isn't against us, but he's not exactly with us right now either. So long as Beelzebub is floating around in his head, there's nothing he can do for us."

"So, I'm hunting my own brother now?" Sam groused.

"So dramatic," Balthazar scoffed. "You're not hunting him; you're trying to save him! What is it with you Winchesters and listening?"

"Right?" Gabriel agreed excitedly. "It's like they just don't have ears!"

"Gabriel, I can assure you that Sam and Dean have ears," Castiel stated, standing up again due to the restless feeling his brother's childish behavior always gave him. "Now would you please use your own?"

Sam barked a laugh at the remark, and Gabriel turned a little red with annoyance and embarrassment.

"What would you have us do, dear Castiel?" Balthazar prompted.

Castiel sighed heavily and sank onto the edge of bed again. "I have some ideas, but they're only half-formed. I haven't had much time to think recently."

"It's alright," Gabriel assured him, "we've been taking care of the plagues."

"Yes, the first plague was obviously difficult, but Gabriel and I managed to rein it in after a day or two," Balthazar added.

"In perfect timing for those frogs," Gabriel commented.

"Which I cleared up as quickly as I could," Balthazar finished.

"How did you clean up the first plague?" Castiel asked.

"Incantation and reverse sacrifice," Balthazar said.

Castiel nodded and hummed his understanding, but Sam needed an explanation.

"A reverse sacrifice," Castiel said, "is taking away what has been given. Since I robbed an innocent, young woman of her life to unleash the plague, Gabriel and Balthazar had to give that life back. I imagine they sent thousands of mothers everywhere went into early labor?"

"Yes, we did," Balthazar confirmed. "A beautiful moment it was, really. And on a Thursday no less. You're welcome."

Castiel smiled for a moment before saying, "Thank you," so quietly but with such sincerity that Sam almost missed the tiny phrase. He didn't understand why the day of the week meant so much to Castiel, but it was the lesser important of his questions.

"If you sacrificed one woman," Sam asked, "why did thousands of expectant mothers go into labor?"

Castiel couldn't answer. He stared at his hands and took a deep, calming breath instead. Sensing his balk, Gabriel explained, "You think only one woman was sacrificed to produce all that blood? Sam, all of the water everywhere was replaced with blood."

"But if he only sacrificed one-"

Castiel raised his voice as he spoke over Sam. "I smote thousands in the name of the plague, but it started with Rebecca."

An uncomfortable silence ensued. With his outburst, a rustling came from the bathroom. Castiel spared a glance toward the locked door, but did not move from his seat.

"Have you taken care of the frogs?" Castiel finally asked. He began to pace to rid his thoughts of the horrid memories creeping in.

"Yes," Balthazar answered cheerily. "I knew a trick to round them up; then, I sorted them out. Many became the bottom of food chains in various habitats, but most were placed in strategic locations to combat the next plague early."

"The next plague will be particularly strong," Castiel cautioned.

"Because the first two weren't?" Sam snorted.

"Sam," Castiel stopped moving in frustration, "Beelzebub is known as the Lord of the Flies for a reason. A plague of flies and other such pests will be especially easy for him," Castiel said impatiently.

"There's no way for you to prevent it, Cassie?" Balthazar asked gently.

"No," Castiel said curtly.

"Cassie…" Gabriel waited a beat to ask hesitantly, "what has he done to you?"

Castiel hesitated as well. "Mostly emotional trauma," he finally replied. He listed the methods of torture he'd recently endured as one might a shopping list: "He seems to greatly enjoy digging through my memories and picking apart each one I esteem. He also spent considerable time breaking down my relationships with others. When that bores him, he gives me impossible-to-complete orders so that my grace diminishes by the second. After sparing so much of it to assist Dean's bid for control, I am not sure how much I have left..." Feeling his brothers' gloom through the small phone, Castiel attempted to joke, "I seem to have found a pain worse than being blown apart by archangels," but his try was rewarded with an uneasy snicker from Balthazar, another soft bark from Sam, and a low chuckle from Gabriel. The three did not know what else to say, however, so Castiel returned to the tactical discussion.

"What else are you planning to use against the coming plagues?" he asked almost conversationally as he sat down again.

"Balthazar dropped off an ancient Egyptian fly swatter the other day. We're going to figure out how it works and use that," Gabriel answered quickly.

"Good," Castiel grunted. Now that he was dormant and somewhat relaxed for the first time that week, he was beginning to feel physical pain. His body was not healing ideally due to Beelzebub's offenses against his grace. To his horror and begrudging interest, he would most likely bear many scars. But if the others heard the toll in his voice, they did not mention it. "I'm not sure when the next plague will be. He might unleash it as soon as he regains control, or he might spend time reconditioning Dean into submission. Most likely, he will refresh his assault of me to get to Dean..." Castiel trailed off, afraid of his own implications.

"Just tell us what to do, Cas," Sam said. His voice was taught with nerves, and Castiel felt responsible for it.

"I don't think there's anything you can do," Castiel admitted. "Gabriel, you're the only one among us who has encountered Beelzebub in the past. What are his weaknesses? How is he exorcised?"

"If I knew, I would share," Gabriel sighed. His voice sounded defeated, yet his sigh was agitated. The archangel was placing an enormous amount of blame on his own shoulders. A small portion of his brain told him that he didn't deserve the weight, but his heart was convinced that he did.

"Well, then," Balthazar exclaimed. "Still as useless as ever!"

"Alright, what is your problem?" Gabriel asked angrily. "What do you have–"

"Stop fighting!" Castiel ordered menacingly. "We do not have time for this!" His voice rose as he went on, driven by frustration, pain, and wrath. "A man is dying! Yet all you think of are your petty rivalries. Do you not care about Dean at all?"

Gabriel and Balthazar were shocked into silence. Sam's jaw tightened as his worst fear was confirmed. Castiel simply seethed and tried to control his breathing as he waited for a response.

Finally, after a long, tense silence, Sam said, "I... I think I might actually have an idea. So, get this - if we..."

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**AN:** _I promise I will have a better chapter up next time. Just a warning, there's going to be a short time jump in it..._


	11. Chapter 10

**AN:** _I am so incredibly sorry for taking so incredibly long to post this. At least it's the longest chapter I've written yet! I have a million excellent reasons for the delay, but I know you don't want to listen to me whine. If you want to hear about the insane three weeks I've had, send me a message. Just so you know, all of my updates are going to be well-spaced now because school has started for me. Mainly though, I was delayed because this chapter was so hard to write! __I honestly don't think its the greatest one I've ever written, but that is for you all to decide. Fair warning: I think Dean goes a bit out of character, and I apologize for it. Most of the chapter is in Dean's head. So, here we go..._

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"…it would all be of wasted effort."

After Dean quieted his thoughts and figured out how to somewhat ignore Beelzebub, that was the first thing he heard. Somehow everything was "all of wasted effort", and Dean just knew that it was his fault. He was the stupid one who got possessed after all. He was the stupid one who still hadn't memorized the exorcism. He was the stupid one who was too weak to fight. Now Sam was out there alone because of his stupidity. Whatever he was doing to save Dean was "all of wasted effort" because of Dean's stupidity. There was no way that sentence started any way other than "Because Dean..." or "If Dean..."

Quietly, Dean hummed 'Creeping Death' by Metallica. It was just to calm himself down, but never before had a song held such relevance.

Dean tried to reason with himself; he tried to convince himself it wasn't true. This voice in his head was just Beelzebub talking, trying to hurt him, to make him mad and push him off his rocker. For one thing, Sam wasn't alone. He was with Gabriel and Balthazar. Now Castiel was coordinating with him, too. Everything would be fine. Castiel would save the day like he always does. As long as Dean remained locked in the bathroom, out of the way, where he couldn't hurt anyone, everything would be alright. Castiel would be Dean's angel with shining wings yet again.

But Dean couldn't lie to himself. Of course it wasn't Beelzebub talking. When did Dean honestly not cause a problem in whatever it was they were doing? He was always the weakest link, and he didn't need some royal demon to tell him that. After all, a powerful demon had already spent forty years convincing him of it.

Dean hadn't moved from the place in the shower where Castiel left him. Rather, he had retreated further into the corner where Castiel had pushed him down, resting his head in the fold of the walls and leaning his entire body against one of them. For comfort's sake, he extended his legs in a wide V in front of him. His eyelids drifted together from exhaustion, but there was no chance of sleep. Besides the fact that Dean wouldn't allow himself to for fear that Beelzebub would regain control, the demon was still poking and prodding and slicing and dicing his innards without reserve so that he couldn't find rest. By this point, Dean had become so accustomed to the internal torture that Beelzebub was resorting to the more and more painful methods just to get a reaction.

Dean drew blood in his lip as held back a scream when Beelzebub found a particularly sensitive area. It was a scar that Dean remembered very well from his time in the pit. His memories of it rushed forward and Beelzebub leered as he doubled his efforts. Castiel's grace within him rushed to the spot to offer a balloon of comfort, but it wasn't enough to hold back Beelzebub's concentrated effort. Sullenly, Dean wondered again what would last longer: the grace or his consciousness.

He needed something to distract himself again. Straining to hear Castiel just on the other side of the bathroom door would work, but Dean ignored his every instinct to. He couldn't listen to the low tones of conversation just outside. The less he knew the better; wasn't that how it was supposed to be? Shoot first, ask questions later. That was how he had been raised. Suddenly, Dean became angry with his angel. The stupid celestial being could've ended all of this the moment it started! If he had just smote Dean, neither of them would've been tortured and none of these plagues would've happened. It was his fault.

"No. Stop it," Dean reprimanded himself aloud. "It's all my fault. Everything's my fault. Who am I kidding?" He breathed out a heavy sigh and knocked his head against the wall.

_Don't worry, Dean_, Beelzebub hissed, _you're not fooling anyone._

Dean rolled his eyes and received an extra-hard sting for it in that sensitive area. His eyes rolled back with the pain, and he curled into the wall just a bit.

_Thank you for sharing this spot with me, Dean_, Beelzebub taunted. _You're such an entertaining host!_

Dean didn't bother to answer. He wanted to listen to Beelzebub even less than he wanted to listen to Castiel. Physical pain he could handle; mental pain… not at the moment. There were too many issues floating around his head already. He currently had a headache; he didn't need a migraine.

With that thought, the inner torture ended. Despite himself, Dean let out a shaky breath of relief when a full minute passed and no pain ensued. He knew the demon wasn't gone, but at least his offensive was. Dean stood on shaky legs and approached the mirror gingerly. He needed to rest all of his weight on the sink to stay upright; without Castiel's steadying presence beside him, he was lost.

With a heavy sigh, Dean brought his eyes up to his reflection and was terrified by what he saw. Though he would deny it every time, he actually yelped at the sight he saw. At first glance, he thought it was that poor bastard Lucifer had possessed. However, the person had dark hair and green eyes, not blond hair and blue eyes. His face as deathly pale, but his throat was crimson. The tip of his nose was scabbed over, and the ridges beneath his eyes, usually purple or pink with bags, were deeply peeling. His left cheek was heavily bruised, and his right cheek had practically peeled off. His chin appeared as if someone had completely dragged the skin away.

Dean closed his eyes and shook his head. "That's just Hell. The pit did that to me. I'm fine now," he told himself. "Beelzebub is playing with my head. That's not real." However, he knew that Hell didn't just do a number on his face; it had flayed him alive and almost turned him into a demon. Then it had put him right back together again and started over. Hell hadn't left physical scars.

His hands shaking, Dean slowed his mind. He had to calm down. He wasn't in Hell anymore. He was fine. He was being possessed but was otherwise fine. He opened his eyes again, saw the same horrid face, and blamed Beelzebub this time. The – what had Gabe called him? – the bottom-feeding smoke-cloud wasn't using smoke and mirrors. No, he was deteriorating him or something equally worse. Dean had actually forgotten that side effect of possession, but now he couldn't avoid it. Briefly, Dean wondered how Beelzebub was able to wear him in public when he looked like this, but, if he was honest, he didn't really care. Dean now understood why Castiel wanted him to stop fighting. What had Beelzebub told him at the start of this?

_"You'll go the same way: skin will melt and peel off, bones will crack or grind, consciousness will dwindle... And the more you fight, of course, the faster it'll happen."_

"It's barely been a week!" Dean groaned as his chin fell against his chest in defeat. He hadn't felt broken like this since Sammy died that first time, right in front of him, by a stupid human and a sharp blade. It had been the first time he truly lost his brother and pushed away the rest of his family. It was the first time he had lost everything. Yet even then, he had options. He had gotten his brother back, hadn't he? Granted, he had sent himself to Hell in the process; but Sammy was alive, and that was all that mattered. This time, Dean didn't have options. This time, Dean couldn't do anything. He couldn't fight Beelzebub, so how was he supposed to fight deterioration? When he did fight it, he made it worse! And when he would ultimately lose this fight, he would ruin everything for Sammy all over again.

_I told you only a month..._ that somehow silky and slimy voice breathed into his ear making him shiver. _Oh, come now. You knew I wasn't gone. Still afraid of me are we?_

Dean scoffed at the mirror, "I'm not afraid of you."

_You're not? Like you're not afraid of Alistair? _He paused to gauge Dean's reaction: a sharp gasp and clenched fists. _Really, Dean, haven't you ever heard that lying is a sin? You'll never reach those pearly gates you're so desperate for at this point._

"Shut up," Dean spat. He forced his hands to relax and placed them on the sink to brace himself as he shifted all of his weight to lean against it. With steadying breathes, he calmed himself down and imagined Castiel's hand on his shoulder, resupplying the grace he desperately needed. Maybe locking him in another room hadn't been such a great idea. Maybe he should've been bound and gagged in the same room instead.

_Oh, come now, it's no fun when you don't argue,_ Beelzebub protested.

Dean ignored him and turned away from the mirror. He slid down the bathroom door and knocked his head against it gently, trying not to make any noises that could bother Castiel on the other side. He extended his legs again and set his hands in his lap. He was too drained to argue pointlessly with the demon inside him – both the literal and figurative ones. Rather, he let his thoughts wander again. Anything that wasn't plague- or demon- related would do.

"What was up with that kiss?" Dean wondered aloud, deciding Castiel was a safe subject. There was no way Beelzebub could shake Dean's faith in his angel. The angel was his rock. Besides, how much effort had Beelzebub already expended there?

Beelzebub perked at the unofficial challenge.

Castiel kissed Dean. Castiel had properly kissed Dean. And Dean had liked it?

"Yeah... Yeah, I liked it." Dean was dumbstruck. "The guy's an angel! A celestial friggin' being! And I kissed him back? That's gotta go against the Bible in so many ways. Did I just single-handedly make the guy fall?"

This wasn't the first time Dean had fallen for a guy. Dean wasn't exactly comfortable with his bi-sexuality, but for as long as he could remember, he'd been attracted to anything with a pretty face and intelligence. Of course, he had always hid it in shame. He was scared, slightly of the feelings and shitless of his father. The man had beaten him for disappointing him or for not protecting Sammy – what would the homophobic do when he caught his twelve year old with a tentative friend behind the library? So, Dean learned to put a stomp down his feelings and drown them in thoughtless one night stands. When until his father disappeared and he hit the road with Sammy, Dean didn't know what to do. Suddenly, there was no constant judgment hanging over his head, and he was able to understand himself. After his father died, Dean felt free – guilty, angry, and incredibly free.

"Good thing it was just in time for all the time travel," Dean grinned to himself, remembering all the well-dressed men of the '70's, '40's, and even the 1860's.

After Dean had gotten over his paralysis of the self-proclaimed warrior of God those few years ago, Dean realized he was head over heels for the guy – which was confusing enough without Castiel's accidental advances and misunderstanding of human behaviors. Honestly, Dean had no idea why Sam hadn't caught on yet. Dean thought he was painfully obvious and even more frustrated. But, there was no possible way Castiel could like Dean, too.

"He's a damn angel! What would a wavelength of celestial intent want with a mud monkey like me?" Dean asked himself bitterly. "That stupid kiss was just an effort to straighten out my head. It was just to help me put a lid on Beelzebub. That's all."

No matter what Castiel said about profound bonds or personal space or getting too close, Dean just knew that he wasn't interested, and it was entirely his own fault. Dean was nothing but an unagreeable problem for the angel. As much as he trusted Castiel, Dean never had the patience to go along with the angel's plans. Dean didn't believe in God, constantly insulted Castiel's faith, and had a hand in practically destroying the whole religion more than once. Granted, occasions like the apocalypse Dean couldn't control (Righteous Man guilt or no), but the other situations that Dean made uncomfortable simply because he could were a defense mechanism. On top of all that, Dean knew how much Castiel hated his lack of faith in himself.

Which only proved that the kiss was simply an improvised survival tactic and that Castiel wanted nothing to do with Dean.

Castiel knew that Dean responded best to painful or sexual advances; words never worked on Dean, and with everything he's been through a kiss was the only option there was. That was it. But if there was nothing else there, why was Dean still so caught on it?

"The look in Castiel's eyes, that's why," Dean answered himself. "That was more than friendship and survival," he scoffed. "I mean, who looks at a guy like that?" Dean paused for a moment then laughed at himself, "I do, that's who."

_Oh, Dean,_ Beelzebub's voice startled the man. _You're not really that ignorant are you?_

Dean simply groaned in response. All he wanted was five minutes of peace. He slowly realized that all he had just remembered had been presented to the demon as well, and he groaned again. How could he be so stupid as to tell the story of his messed up childhood to the thing that was trying to kill him? Now Beelzebub had excessive ammunition in the war for Dean's sanity, the war Dean admitted earlier that he would ultimately lose.

"Fantastic," Dean moaned. "Absolutely fantastic."

_Really, though, Dean,_ Beelzebub continued earnestly, _do you honestly think he doesn't have feelings for you? It's obvious, isn't it? I thought your brain functioned before I turned it into putty?_

Dean laughed humorlessly and tried to reestablish the wall he had put up to ignore Beelzebub. The demon's opinion was the last thing he wanted to consider. It wasn't even an opinion at all; it was just propaganda to make Dean insane. …But, Beelzebub's assertion weaseled to the front of Dean's mind anyway. Could it be true? Were those accidental advanced not accidents at all? Like he said himself, accidents don't just happen accidentally. But, of course, this was a demon talking to him – a demon whose goal was to manipulate Dean and make him utterly inept.

_Dean,_ Beelzebub intoned with a pitying voice, _have I ever lied to you? Why should I now?_

Dean had to admit to himself that Beelzebub hadn't lied to him yet. At first, the thought intrigued him: Did that mean he was serious about Castiel? After considering it for a moment, however, he realized that Lucifer had constantly used the same line.

_Oh, of course it's true, you buffoon!_ Beelzebub exclaimed.

Dean wasn't sure which point the demon was defending anymore, but he played along anyway. Silencing the part of his brain that criticized him for holding a discussion with a high-ranking demon, Dean childishly asked, "How would you even know?"

_Do you think I've only been around for a few days?_ Beelzebub was incredulous. Dean shrugged having forgotten how long exactly he had been possessed. _I watched you for years before I effortlessly possessed you._ Dean mumbled at his choice of adverb but was ignored. _Excellent work averting the apocalypse, by the way. I was glad to not die by the hands of overgrown three-year-olds with wings._

Dean tried to get a word in at this point, but Beelzebub kept going.

_He didn't need to mark you, you know. That handprint was unnecessary. He told Heaven that it was a consequence of the way he retrieved you and that it would be a handy warning to keep evil away from you, but really he was just marking you as his own. Didn't you notice how he cleaned it up nicely after the apocalypse? If he was to take control of Heaven, he couldn't be labeled as a human-paramour, could he? Good thing I possessed you; it made for a nice excuse to mark you again._

_And does that angel really have to be quite so rough with you all the time? Does he have to stare at you so much? Or watch over you while you sleep?_ The demon continued to pester Dean with questions, and Dean reluctantly felt himself begin to agree.

Forcefully, he reminded himself, "He's trying to mess with your head."

Suddenly, Dean heard the angel under consideration loud and clear:

"We do not have time for this. A man is dying!"

"Dying?" Dean parroted with a gulp. "Let's not get hasty here."

_Dean,_ Beelzebub sighed, _they're not being hasty. Quite the contrary, actually. They're being quite tedious. Of course, you're dying! I'm –_

"Possessing me, right, yeah, yeah, I know," Dean finished. "Deterioration and all that." He dragged a hand down his face and knocked his head into the door. "Story of my life."

_Exactly,_ Beelzebub replied simply, his voice caught between contentment and smugness.

"Wait a minute," Dean suddenly bolted into a straighter position and his eyes blew wide, "what does he mean he hasn't got time for this? Time for what, me dying?"

Now it was Beelzebub's turn to groan. _You're really that stupid, aren't you?_

But Dean had stopped listening completely. He stood again and perched himself on the toilet lid to think. Before he could process anything, the door opened cautiously, and Castiel stepped through with a weary glance around.

"Dean?" he called uncertainly.

"Yeah, Cas?" Dean answered wearily with a slight hint of annoyance in his tone.

Relief spread plainly across his features. "Your brother would like to speak with you before he disconnects," Castiel explained, holding out the phone. He handed the phone to Dean and moved to leave the room.

"What's up, bitch?"

A soft chuckle answered him, "I just wanted to make sure it was still you in there, jerk."

"Yeah," Dean said. "I'm still here. And I'm not going anywhere. I'd hate to be some dying waste of time for anyone." Without letting his brother say anything else, he flipped his phone shut with a loud clack, and stomped out of the bathroom.

Castiel looked up in surprise from his seat on the edge of the bed. It looked like his head had been in his hands before. "Is everything alright?" he asked. "Sam said he wanted to explain something to you. I thought it would take longer?"

"Did he? Guess I didn't give him the chance," Dean replied curtly as he tossed the cellphone to Castiel. The angel caught it awkwardly and stared at it in confusion. Honestly, Dean wasn't sure why he hung up on his brother. Castiel had been the one to say they hadn't the time for Dean's death. But had Castiel even meant that? Dean had probably heard wrong. He hadn't been able to hear every word through the door anyway.

Still, Dean was angry, angry at all of them. None of it was their fault, but he was tired of blaming himself. For once, he wanted someone else to shoulder the blame.

"Let's just go," Dean said after a moment of unintended silence, startling Castiel. "I assume you all came up with a plan, right? We have someplace to be now?"

Castiel stood briskly with a blank mask for a countenance. He pocketed the phone and scrutinized Dean once more. He stepped into Dean's personal space and squinted at his face. Dean almost lost it when Castiel's head tilted to the said to consider his charge further. The man was torn between the adorableness of the gesture and his frustration of being an object.

"Dean," Castiel began in a voice especially deep, caught between thought and irritation, "do you remember what I told you after I brought you back from 1973?"

"Um, yeah." His voice trailed in nervous confusion. "You told me something about destiny never changing and that my brother was on a dangerous road or something. That I had to stop him or you would. Which, if I may point out to your former arrogant self, was a contradictory statement."

Castiel stared at him for a moment with narrowed eyes. "You'll do well to remember that again now, Dean," he said finally in a menacing tone, "but Sam is no longer the brother in question." Then Castiel pushed past Dean out of the motel room, leaving Dean with a worried frown and a cold sweat.

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_Don't forget: reviews are a girl's best friend!_


	12. Chapter 11

**AN:** _ I'm back! And I'm extremely sorry for disappearing again. Do you know how hard it is to apply to university? Really, it's not that hard, but it takes _forever_! I'm not exaggerating. The CommonApp is ridiculous!_

_But you don't want to listen to that. Sorry. Anyway, I was feeling very destiel-y in my insomnia last night, so this (and the changed 'romance' tag above) is my result. My brain is honestly fried from all the work I've had lately, so any mistakes are a result of my zombie-like state. There is a time jump in the works/coming, and, just so you know, I think I've reached the three-fourths marker of this story. Please enjoy..._

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The third, fourth, and fifth plagues somehow struck overnight while the angels and Sam conversed and Dean was locked in the bathroom. All Castiel and Dean could do was hope the others could handle cleaning up the new plagues while they searched for a way to carry out Sam's plan. At this point, Dean stopped questioning Beelzebub's how and instead examined his why. What exactly was he out for? Why would an evil entity as old as him want to end the world? It didn't make sense, and Dean hated it.

Dean's epiphany came three nights later, but before he could share it with Castiel, Beelzebub excessively silenced him.

He had been driving, just pulling into a new motel room. Castiel got out of the Impala first to buy a room, and Dean leaned against the car, staring at the stars and thinking. He reminisced the last time he and Sam had gotten the chance to kick back and watch the stars. That night, so very long ago, had been so peaceful. It had been during the apocalypse, one of the nights they spent at Bobby's thinking it would be their last. Sam had taken a beer out to Dean, and they sat together on the hood of their beloved car. For an hour or so, they were able to forget their problems and just be brothers again. The quiet calm of the night had almost convinced Dean that demons, monsters, and Lucifer all weren't even real. The world was a quiet, calm place where the only monsters were people and hunters weren't necessary. They were just brothers on a road trip, looking for their father.

But, of course, that wasn't true. The world was overrun by demons a long time ago, and if there were no hunters like Sam and Dean, the world would be controlled by the likes of Crowley, Azazel, and Alistair. No one would live past the age of thirty. Most would bow to a crossroads deal. Everyone else would be eaten by vamps, shifters, or something or other before the demons could get to them. All young women would become maiden slaves. All older women would become sacrifices. It would be just like the dinosaurs – unexplained extinction.

Dean shuddered at the thought of such a world. Hell on Earth. The scariest part was that if the right demon came along with the right plan, it could just happen. Team Free Will could only handle so much, and, if Dean was honest, the average hunter a lot less than that. After all, the average hunter didn't believe in angels and had never gone to Hell. If a group of demons, or even one intelligent demon, began working toward a well-planned goal, the world was doomed. If that lead demon had a plan for what happened after taking over, the world was gone...

"Shit," Dean swore under his breath. He straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. His brain didn't know whether to be afraid or amazed. It also didn't know whether it was amazed at Beelzebub's plan itself or at the fact that he figured it out himself. Beelzebub wanted to have fun alright. He wanted to upstage and dethrone Lucifer. He wanted to complete the apocalypse and enslave the human race.

"Really, man, cliché much?" Dean asked out loud.

When Dean felt Beelzebub's presence suddenly expand within his body, his brain decided to be scared. Instinctively, he fought the other consciousness, but the sudden battle fatigued him rapidly, and he lost before he even began. Castiel's grace within him had depleted a while ago, and he really stood no chance. Screaming curses now, Dean was once again subject to Beelzebub's humiliation which began with a silent walk behind Castiel to a room. This time, Beelzebub did nothing to worry the angel. He put on a flawless performance that Castiel did not second-guess at all. Dean threw all of his strength into taking his body back or, at the very least, preventing Beelzebub's movements, without a care to his body's deterioration, but, of course, to no avail.

"You know, Cas, maybe you should tell me Sam's plan," Beelzebub-as-Dean suggested, not winded at all from holding off the actual Dean. "I mean, not all of it. We obviously can't clue His Hellish Holiness in, but can't you give me a hint? Code words that I'll understand but not him? I just don't want to mess up Sammy's great plan or get in the way. Alright, maybe I want to believe that Sammy actually has a great plan. I mean, come on, this is Beelzebub! How are we supposed to stop him without stopping me? I don't know, just give me something to work with here, man!"

"Dean, you were resolute in not knowing anything when this all started and gave me strict orders not to appease your pleas. Even if you hadn't made me swear several times over the last few days, I would not tell you anything because it is the sensible thing to do," Castiel said decisively.

Beelzebub groaned in frustration. "You're killing me."

Castiel responded, "You say that very often yet you never die as a result of what is apparently 'killing' you. I think you will manage to remain alive this time as well."

Beelzebub rolled his eyes at Castiel's back; then threw himself face first onto the nearest bed. Castiel ignored the action and began to draw protective sigils around the room in an invisible ink Dean had never heard of before but assumed came from Heaven. Grumbling at Dean for not helping, the angel laid lines of salt against the doors and windows and pulled the shades of the large bay window carefully together so not to disturb the salt. As depressed as he was, Dean was at least happy when Castiel ringed the bed he had claimed with salt as well; Beelzebub, on the other hand, had to suppress a shudder.

"I still don't think that's necessary," Beelzebub complained into a pillow, gesturing to the ring around the bed. "You've seen how often I get up in the night. Whether he's in charge or not, I can't cross that and you're just wasting tons of salt when you open and close it for me again and again."

"It may waste salt, Dean, but it allows me to monitor what you do and what Beelzebub does. It is more help than you think."

"Whatever," Beelzebub mumbled. "You also never explained why we had to travel for three days to the middle of nowhere on such short notice."

"It is all in accord-"

"Accordance with Sammy's plan, yeah, I got that," Beelzebub finished as he rolled off his stomach to lean against the pillows properly. Castiel watched with annoyed eyes as he sat on his own bed in a stoic, sentinel position. Internally, Dean grew angrier by the second that Castiel didn't realize it wasn't him anymore. He hadn't been this pestering, had he? Sure, he'd asked a few times if he could know anything about Sam's plan, but he hadn't whined this much!

"I see I'm in for another night of staring contests," Beelzebub sighed. Silence ensued until Beelzebub had an interesting thought. _If you claim to be mentally unstable already… let's have more fun there, shall we?_ he thought to Dean.

"Well, let's get this slumber party started then, eh? I'm sick of the silence; it's driving me crazy! Watching porn would be less awkward at this point."

"But, I thought you said men never watch porn with other men?" Castiel asked slowly, tilting his head.

"Yes, Cas, I mean, no, I mean –" Beelzebub faked a frustrated groan. "Yes, I said that, because no you don't watch porn with other guys."

"Then why did you suggest it now?"

"I didn't. It was a figure of speech. Really, you've been here for how long, and you still don't get those yet?"

Castiel tilted his head further. "Then what do you really propose we do, Dean?"

"Jesus, Cas! It's awkward just sitting here! People usually talk to each other when they're stuck with each other like this!" Beelzebub paused a moment before looking down and adding, "And honestly, you and I have a few things to talk about."

"What do you wish to discuss?" Castiel asked, his voice even, more curious than anything else.

"Well…" Beelzebub paused as if choosing his words, "Cas, no matter how this ends, it doesn't look pretty for me. I know I'm venturing into a chick flick moment here, but, uh, we need to discuss the other night."

Dean knew exactly where this was going, and his hatred for the demon inside him increased tenfold in that second. Castiel's face twisted into a silent prompt for Dean to continue, so Beelzebub did.

"For one thing, why did you threaten me, man? What was that whole thing with reminding me about pre-apocalypse Sammy?"

"You were angry for no reason and no doubt going to do something stupid as a consequence. I needed to scare you into submission again," Castiel said with his eyes firmly on Dean.

"'Scare me into submission'?" Beelzebub repeated. "Are you kidding me? Do you know how that sounds?"

Castiel's forehead furrowed. "No, I do not."

Beelzebub rolled his eyes and let it go. He asked sarcastically, "Alright, well, am I submissive enough for you now?"

"I think so. You are acting a little more like yourself again," Castiel answered. "Especially tonight."

It took a lot of will power for Beelzebub to maintain a straight face and not bark a laugh at Castiel's response. Dean was almost beside himself with fury.

_He thinks the demon is more myself than I am? Damn, that says a lot about him!_ Dean seethed.

_I think it says more about you, Dean,_ Beelzebub retorted smoothly.

"Well, that's good, I guess," Beelzebub said aloud. "I'm glad I've come to my senses," he said dryly.

"As am I." Castiel smiled and nodded. If Dean wasn't so angry, he would've grinned at the adorable motion.

Yet another silence followed. Beelzebub changed his position on the bed yet again so that he was facing the angel with crossed legs. His elbows rested on his knees, and he leaned forward intently. Castiel noted the movement, and only took it as a sign of interest. He began glancing around the motel room and did not notice the glint in Dean's eyes as Beelzebub continued after the stretch of time:

"So, um," Beelzebub purposely spoke awkwardly once again, "if that's sorted, I guess we should talk about, uh, the, uh…" He trailed off and hurried a look at the digital alarm clock on the nightstand between the beds. "No, you know what? Never mind. It's late. I should get some shut-eye."

Castiel returned his gaze to Dean's fidgeting figure. "No, Dean," he said. "If there is something else on your mind, you should please say it." The angel was still curious as to what Dean had to say and not suspicious in the least.

"Well," Beelzebub continued, running a hand repeatedly through his hair, "I kind of want to… clear the air about that… kiss." He waited a beat. "I mean, I understand…" Then, he refused to meet Castiel's eyes and trailed off again.

"You understand what, Dean?" Castiel asked. Dean certainly only imagined the hopeful hint his voice took on.

"That you were only trying to save me from my mind and fix my head and all that good stuff, but..."

Castiel's tone drooped a bit, "But?"

"But friends don't kiss friends, Cas," Beelzebub said with resolve as he finally made eye contact with the angel again.

Castiel's eyes said everything as he asked, "Is that what we are, Dean? Friends?"

"What are you taking about, Cas?" Beelzebub asked. "Of course we're friends. You're my best friend. Probably my only friend. No, yeah, definitely my only friend. You're like my second brother. How many times have you saved my sorry ass or died for me? We're family, Cas."

"Family," Castiel repeated.

"Yeah. What did you think we are?"

Castiel looked thoughtful before answering, "Something else." His gaze was trained on Dean's face, studying it and scrutinizing every wrinkle.

"What else would we be?" Beelzebub asked with an inflection of nervous curiosity and frustration.

If Dean wasn't hanging on his angel's every word he would've been scared by how well Beelzebub had spent the last five or ten minutes mimicking him. Instead, he studied and scrutinized the angel's face with just as much intensity. So much depended on this moment for Dean. _'Something else' wasn't necessarily 'something more' but it was a start. What does Cas think we are?_

Dean didn't realize it until Castiel answered, but Beelzebub let that question form aloud. And Castiel didn't respond with words. Rather, he stood up and swiftly crossed the room to kiss Dean. The angel opened his mouth and Dean's with a soft swipe of his tongue, and then the kiss took off. Dean was overwhelmed with shock, happiness, and amazement, partly believing that this was just a fantasy Beelzebub was creating. But it wasn't; it was real. Every sensation proved that.

And Castiel was a damn good kisser.

With a snide comment about dreams coming true, Beelzebub gave Dean control again so he could enjoy it more, and as much as Dean wanted to hurt Beelzebub for the comment, he took what he could get without any complaints which could jeopardize this chance. As soon as he could, Dean responded enthusiastically. He twisted his fingers into the hair at the nape of Castiel's neck and dragged Castiel onto the bed with him by the lapels of that damn trenchcoat. He didn't expect or really want the situation to elevate too quickly, but it was a more comfortable position. For his part, Castiel had a hand behind Dean's neck as well and the other holding his waist.

Of course, at that moment, the phone in Castiel's trenchcoat began ringing obnoxiously, and he pulled away in shock. The man and the angel stared at each other in startled astonishment for a few seconds before Castiel leapt away and Dean scurried backward on the bed.

"It's an unknown number," Castiel announced, his voice gruff. "I should answer this and make sure it is not another hunter in need of assisstance."

"Ye-yeah," Dean stammered. "Oh, wait, Cas, I need to –" Dean tried to shout after him, but the door had already slammed shut.

Beelzebub sidled back into control, meeting no resistant from the shell-shocked Dean. He finished Dean's sentence with a chuckle, "Warn you that I lost control again... Oh, well." He stood up and easily crossed the salt line that Castiel's excitement ruined. Then, he stretched Dean's body like a toy. "Show time," he breathed with glee.

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_As always, reviews are wonderful little things. I love hearing back from my readers, so please chime in!_


	13. Chapter 12

**AN:** _Look at how quick I got this up! I braved a scolding from an asshole teacher and wrote during my free period today. So what I should have been working on my research paper? This is so much more fun._

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"We've lost Dean again," Castiel sobbed tearlessly into the phone.

"Wh-what?" Sam stuttered. He couldn't have heard right. No. Castiel had greeted him with the usual custom. He hadn't just said that-

"Dean has-" Castiel choked, and had to start over. "Beelzebub is in control again. And he's saying things, and, and doing things... He's using Dean to," he was forced to pause for breath between his quiet, barely-controlled sobs, "manipulate me again."

Instantly Gabriel took the phone from Sam, who was too shocked to move anyway. "Does he know who you're talking to?" the archangel asked stiffly. He had to be sure the group was safe before he comforted his brother, even if he seemed like an asshole for it.

"No," Castiel sniffled, trying to follows his older brother's lead and force down his emotions. He was a celestial being, an angel of the Lord! He shouldn't have emotions anyway. All of this was Dean's fault. Dean and his stupid human fragility.

But, Castiel knew that wasn't true, which made controlling himself all the harder.

"I'm so sorry, Cassie," Gabriel murmured, immediately dropping his rough disposition. "You know it's not Dean. Just ignore everything he does to you. It's not him. Dean would never, ever do anything like this to you, and you know it."

It was good advice for Beelzebub's older tactics that Gabriel assumed were being used again now; however, things had changed. Castiel had been so hopeful, so excited, and so aroused by everything Dean was saying and considering tonight. The last three days in the car, trying to out-drive each plague was murder. Dean had been on the border of constantly angry, obsessively insecure, and somewhat sweet the entire time. The angel could never gauge a good reading of his partner, but tonight... It had seemed so like Dean! How could he have been so stupid? Castiel growled at his own incompetence as he thought over everything Dean said in the hotel room. All the signs had been there: the fact that Dean initiated a 'chick flick' moment in the first place, how he ran his hands through his hair instead of across his face...

But it took that stupid kiss for Castiel to figure it out. He knew it was a hazardous move in the first place, but he had to try. Dean had seemed so loving, but it had only been Beelzebub pretending. Castiel had let his hopes too high, and he fell further than anticipated.

"Cassie?" Gabriel asked. "Castiel?"

The long silence worried both angels on the other side of the conversation. Balthazar took the phone from the flummoxed Gabriel and asked cautiously, "Cassie, what exactly has Beelzebub done?"

"He-" Castiel answered immediately but stopped just as quickly, concerned about how it would sound. _He kissed me_ would only make them all laugh.

"Castiel," Balthazar tried again, "did he show you excessive affection?" The other angel chose his words very carefully.

Castiel appreciated that wording. "Yes," his scratchy voice said gratefully.

"Did he kiss you?" Balthazar asked next.

Castiel did not appreciate this question. "I... kissed him... first… I think," Castiel said slowly. "He responded with vigor."

"With vigor?" Balthazar repeated. "Haha, that might just have been Dean after all. How do you know it's not?"

"His mannerisms were all wrong, and he... tasted like Meg. He did not taste like Meg the first time."

"The first time?" Balthazar squeaked. "What first time?" Gabriel wanted to add a question, but restrained himself in respect for Castiel's current state.

The angel's voice lapsed into a detached monotone and his eyes glazed over, sightlessly seeing the Impala parked across the lot. His eyes stopped leaking – he hadn't noticed when they started to – and he took a deep breath to clear his nose.

Clearing his throat, he explained, "When I got him back I had to kiss him to elicit his focus. In the situation Dean would only have responded to physical or affectionate advances and due to Beelzebub's constant onslaught of torture, physical advances worked only to further the deterioration of Dean's body. I was forced to use a sensual advance which he enthusiastically responded to and which worked rather quickly. This time, however, the sensual advance was brought on by a conversation about Dean and my relationship to prevent what he called awkward silences. I realized that Dean was no longer in control of his body because the kiss tasted greatly of sulfur and left my anal cavities rather dry. In contrast, the first sensual advance was quite pleasurable and tasted only slightly of sulfur because Beelzebub was at bay."

When Castiel concluded his speech, Sam rolled his eyes and breathed heavily. After a moment, he decided it was best to simply walk out of the room, so he retreated to the bathroom. Gabriel watched him go with a mixture of pity and mirth. The poor kid had just heard a review of his brother's kissing ability. More seriously, he had just learned his brother was officially losing the impossible battle. Gabriel empathized with the kid, but at the same time, he had his own concerns. Briefly, he wondered if angel-demon interactions would hurt Castiel. Balthazar could only laugh at Sam's fleeing figure. He had the same worries as Gabriel, and perhaps more due to his immense concern for his best friend's state of mind. However, the younger angel could not process all of these problems at once, so he focused on a source of stress relief for the moment.

When Castiel heard Balthazar, he snapped. With enough sense to fly away from the motel so that Beelzebub did not hear him, he shouted into Dean's cell phone, "HOW DARE YOU FIND HUMOR IN THIS SITUATION."

Balthazar sobered immediately, and both angels recoiled from Sam's cell phone in fright. It fell to the floor, but Castiel's wrath could still be heard clearly.

"HOW DARE YOU FIND HUMOR IN THIS!" he screamed again. "A man's life is in peril, and you're laughing? Dean's body is breaking down; I doubt it can hold Beelzebub much longer! And only our Father knows what his mental state is at this moment. For all we know, he has already given up due to how heavily he blames himself!

"There is also in no small part the effect Beelzebub has had on my myself and Sam! We have been suffering a great mental strain not only worrying about Dean but also configuring a way to end this mayhem! What have you been doing, Balthazar? Gabriel has been attempting to help, but what have you done? He's trying to think of something to use against Beelzebub, but all you do is disappear for lengths of time to peruse your secret stash of Heaven's stolen arsenal! Why can't you just let Gabriel look through it as well? He knows the plagues better than you do. He could recognize a helpful weapon faster than you. He's more of a help than you!

"If, by any miracle, we manage to survive Beelzebub's master plan, you will owe us all huge debts," Castiel swore to conclude his tirade. He was panting heavily from the exertion of shouting and gripping the phone much too tightly. The tiny electronic device almost crumbled apart in his hand. As he stood motionlessly in the center of a silent park, he attempted to steady his pulse. A light breeze whipped the low hanging branches of nearby trees, and several leaves shook loose to circle the out-of-place angel lazily.

No one on the other end of the conversation made any noise either. They dared not even breathe. Drawn out by the scratchy sound of Castiel's enraged voice blaring through the phone, Sam stood half in the bathroom, leaning through a crack in the door with wide eyes and a gaping jaw. Gabriel stood with his gaze trained on the phone that was still on the floor. His jaw practically unhinged itself; it was hanging open so wide. He was taking in just enough air through his nose and trying his hardest not to even glance over at the younger angel beside him. By no means was he comfortable anymore. After Sam's plan had been considered and developed, he and Balthazar had begun to cooperate with each other more. The younger angel was still remote and vitriolic, but he was compromising and friendlier now. However, he still refused to tell Gabriel any more than absolutely necessary, and he let Gabriel near his secret stash under no circumstances.

Balthazar was standing as still and straight as a flagpole. His face was deathly white as if god himself had descended the clouds to reprimand him. The foot soldier with wings stared silently at the phone with his jaw clenched until he finally reached down to retrieve it and hand it off the Sam. The man looked at the phone bewildered, afraid to meet Balthazar's eyes. In a very low, subdued voice, the angel told Sam to strategize with Castiel until he calmed down. Then, he pivoted on his heels in a curt motion, latched onto Gabriel's shoulder, and flew off with the older angel. The harsh beat of wings was heard while they disappeared, and two feathers floated gently to the floor as a result.

Cautiously, Sam creaked the bathroom door open enough to walk through and glanced around the vacated room. He stopped to pick up the feathers and wondered whose they were. Gabriel had been caught by surprise; they could've fallen off his indignant wings, but Balthazar had flapped his wings so angrily that they could have more easily fallen from his. No matter whose they were, Sam had to admit they were beautiful. The body of the feathers was royal blue, the stalk ever darker, with gold highlights, similar to human hair, and a brilliant gold quill nib. When he twirled them between his fingers in the light, they shone like stained glass.

Sam could hear Castiel's tirade and labored breathing even with the phone clutched loosely at his side. He knew he had to, but the younger Winchester really did not want to continue talking to Castiel after hearing that affirmation of his desired relationship with his brother. This wasn't the first time Sam had seen chemistry between his brother and the angel, but it was the first time he was directly presented with it. Sam thought Dean's desperate ventures to suppress his feelings for Castiel were adorable. His older brother had it bad for the angel, and the whole world could see it except that angel. At the same time, Sam had always suspected Castiel returned Dean's feelings but was too clueless to understand that himself or to physically manifest it. In any case, Sam only wished the two would talk to each other about their obvious feelings, but he knew that where Dean Winchester was involved, any situation remotely resembling a "chick flick" was avoided at all costs.

Reluctantly, Sam placed the feathers gently on the motel desk and returned his attention to the phone in his hand. He needed to hear what happened to his brother, both for his plan and his peace of mind, so he finally raised the phone to his ear again when he heard complete silence on the other end. The screen of his own phone assured him that Castiel had not hung up, so he gingerly sought Castiel's attention again.

"Yes, Sam," Castiel answered, "I'm still here." He hesitated a moment before adding, "And I am sorry for my outburst."

"Yeah, Cas," Sam waved his hand as if physically swatting the problem away, "it's fine. I can't say that Balthazar deserved all of that, but he needed the reality check."

"Where is he now? I would like to apologize to him."

"He, uh, took off. Gave me the phone, grabbed Gabe, and flew somewhere. He flapped so hard he actually shed. At least, I think it was him."

"What color are the feathers?" Castiel inquired curiously. "And how many fell?"

"Uh, two blue and gold feathers. They're really nice actually. Are yours anything like them?" Sam knew he was wasting time with pointless small talk, but he was one part honestly curious and two parts avoiding other subjects.

Castiel paused thoughtfully, and when he answered, he sounded a combination angry and dejected. "Yes, those are Balthazar's then." He sighed heavily. "Gabriel's wings are a shocking green. Although it does not bode well for my future apology, I am quite relieved that the ones which fell are not his. If I am frank, Gabriel's wings never healed properly after Michael's torture. And, no, they are nothing like mine. I am quite envious of Balthazar's wings, actually. I possess a pair of very light blue wings which appear rather like stone in most circumstances. I am also afraid that some of my feathers have been permanently singed black or scarred by my journeys through Hell and by my near-fall."

Sam was silent, once again awed by Gabriel's hardships and Castiel's stories and knowledge. Hearing of the different types of wings sparked an intense curiosity within him. He also wanted to know what Castiel meant by the foreboding apology, but he figured he should ask one thing at a time, and right now, his priority was his brother. A lesson on angel wings would unfortunately have to wait because even Sam wouldn't digress that far.

After the silence filled a considerable stretch of time, Sam took a deep breath and asked, "So, Cas... I need to know about my brother, man. What happened tonight?"

"Sam," Castiel stalled. He shoved his free hand in his pocket and pivoted, beginning to pace. Hesitantly, he said, "I have... feelings for your brother."

"Yes, I know that. I've always known that."

"You do?" Castiel asked in shock.

"Cas, man, it's pretty obvious," Sam admitted sadly.

"Then, why did Dean never notice?"

The angel's voice sounded so pathetic, that Sam almost soothed him as if he were a teenage girl. However, he swallowed it down and said instead, "Because Dean is blind when it comes to these things. He's probably so wrapped up in himself and so freaked out by his own feelings that he never noticed yours. Honestly, the guy is a grade-A womanizer; it's probably really hard for him to admit to himself that he likes another dude. But you've got to be a bit more forthcoming as well. Dean may be the best hunter I know, but he's pretty damn blind when it's important."

"So you're saying I should make it known that I harbor romantic feelings for Dean?" Castiel asked after a short, thoughtful pause.

"Yes," Sam answered curtly. He was aggravated that the conversation had turned into a therapy session.

"Duly noted."

"Good," Sam muttered sarcastically. There was yet another silence, this one more awkward than the last. "So, are you sure that Dean lost control again?" Sam asked impatiently. He wished Balthazar would return with Gabriel soon.

"Completely," Castiel stated. His voice dropped off, and Sam knew there was more to that sentence that Castiel was unwilling to say.

"And?" Sam prompted after a minute.

"And, I'm unsure whether he will ever regain control," Castiel choked out. He stopped moving to stand completely still. He had never been prone to pacing, and he wasn't sure why he felt so anxious to move now. "To be blunt, it is a miracle he is still alive at this point, given he has endured so much already."

Sam clenched his jaw so tightly that his gums twitched in pain. Though he was expecting such an answer, he still did not want to hear it. A million scenarios flashed through his mind: what could be happening to Dean, how he could be feeling, what would happen next… None of them were good.

Breathing deeply, Sam forced himself to calm down. He had to. A mental breakdown would not be of any aid at this moment; it would be quite the opposite. Somehow, he was the man with the plan this time. Everything depended on him. He had to keep his head. He had to stay on his feet. He had to make sure that every piece was on the square it should be. There couldn't be any trap doors this time.

For the first time, he was the one leading the charge. Sure, he had developed a plan to prevent the apocalypse, but that had been a last-ditch effort. No one had wanted to follow it, and certainly no one wanted it to work. This time, the others approved of the plan. Once again, it was the only one they had, but that did not make a difference now. Everyone who heard it thought it was acceptable. They were hoping it would succeed, even if they didn't think it would. This time, Sam was in charge of rescuing his brother and putting him back in one, sane piece. He had to put Humpty Dumpty back together again, and there was negative space for error.

"And there's nothing we can do from the outside to ensure he's still alright?" Sam asked in a strong yet desperate voice. The curtains to his left fluttered, indicating the angels' return, and he glanced their way to see that they had retrieved everything needed.

"No," Castiel was saying, "there's not."

"Well," Sam said, closing his eyes tightly, "it works better this way anyway." Castiel agreed hesitantly. Balthazar and Gabriel exchanged a nervous look at Sam's tone. "We need him dormant and out of the way. Beelzebub needs to be on the surface, right?"

"It would be ideal, yes."

"Then, I guess we should stop crying about it, and get a move on. What did you two bring back?"

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_Thank you to all who reviewed that last chapter for me! I really, really appreciate it! Seriously, you don't know how much it brightens my day to see even a single review._


	14. Chapter 13

**AN:** _Yes, I do how short this is. Yes, I do know how quickly I've been updating. Basically, my research paper does not want to write itself but this does._

_This is one part an explanation of Balthazar and another part comic relief. I didn't much like the last chapter, but it had to be written for plot movement. I promise: everything ties together in the end. Also, this was supposed to be part of a larger chapter, but I hate when a chapter jumps between scenes and should really be two, so I just separated it. I'm still working on the other half, so bear with me. Oh, and, I'm sorry if this is out of character for both of them. They weren't in enough episodes for me to master their dialogue._

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Balthazar and Gabriel landed outside a huge warehouse built into a mountain. There was no snow or sparkly surfaces; it was just a dirty, brown mountain in the middle of nowhere. A makeshift dirt path led from the door of the huge tin hut to the road which Gabriel could barely perceive miles away. The archangel wasn't sure if he should be awed by the sheer amount of nowheres-ville that stretched out around them or disgusted by the uncleanliness of it all. However, he never got the chance to decide, since Balthazar dragged him inside the ugly building almost as soon as their feet hit the ground.

"Let's make this quick, shall we?" Balthazar asked, releasing Gabriel and spinning dramatically on his heel to face him. The older angel was compelled to focus his attention on the irritated one speaking to him, rather than glance around like he wanted to.

"I was only in this to start for Castiel because he has been a dear friend of mine for as long as I can remember. I don't like you much, but do you expect me to? You were the only angel who could stand up to those morons and end the apocalypse before it began, but you decided to flee!

"I looked up to you!" Balthazar shouted, becoming more animated as he went on. He bounced on his toes for emphasis throughout his speech, and his voice echoed around the walls. "All of us cavalrymen, us foot soldiers, us _simpletons_," he gestured around himself as if to present a whole band of lower-ranked angels, "each had our favorite of you four, the archangels, the older brothers we were expected to emulate. I picked you. You had a sense of humor. You weren't serious or stupid, but you knew to pick your battles. And yet there was one battle you didn't pick that you should have. No, instead, when times got hairy, you ran away with your tail between your legs! I admired you, and you deserted me!

"So, no, I don't bloody like you anymore, and I was only in this for Castiel at the start." Balthazar took a deep breath and calmed down some. "However," he began again, crossing his arms indignantly, "the way you handled your recent hardships and ordeals, made me realize that maybe you aren't as bad as I thought. After all, you stood up to and died by Lucy in the end. Then, you got stuck under Michael's thumb for the longest time – which I am dreadfully sorry for. Karma's a bitch, isn't it?" he asked with a cheeky grin.

"My point is: in this case, you're Henry Jones, and I'm Indy. I'm sorry. I look up to you again, if that even means anything to you. Quite honestly, I don't care if you forgive me or not for the past few weeks because I still don't forgive you for the past few millennia. Still, we need to stop Beelzebub; he's more serious than I anticipated. I'm here now, and I'm in this for all of us, not just Castiel; though, I still won't take orders from you, and my main objective is saving that stupid trenchcoated lovebird."

"Wouldn't that make me your father not your brother?" Gabriel had to ask.

Balthazar huffed at Gabriel's comment but didn't say anything further, and Gabriel had no idea how to respond otherwise. So, instead, he finally took the chance to look around. He turned his guilty countenance away from the younger angel and was absolutely astounded by what he saw. Ceiling lights clanged to life, one by one, sparked by the appearance of the two angels. Inside the repulsive warehouse was a stone-walled room that seemed to continue without end in any direction. The two were standing on a grate cat-walk that extended around the perimeter of the ceiling the room and descended into the occasional ladder. Below them, out of the shadows, industrial shelving units emerged in neat rows, each one stacked in an organized fashion that utilized the most space. Squinting to read the cursive signs hanging above each row, Gabriel read that the stacks were arranged according to each book of the Bible.

"Balthazar…" Gabriel's voice dripped with wonder, "is this Heaven's stolen arsenal?"

"Half of it, yes," Balthazar said, staring straight ahead. "What I could salvage, that is."

"What do you mean, 'salvage'?" Gabriel asked.

"Contrary to popular belief, I didn't just steal a load of weapons for the fun of it," Balthazar spat. "I needed them to protect myself." His voice dropped off as he added, "Also, I scattered and hid the pieces rather well, so it's been Hell trying find them all again." He shook his head and got back on track, "Besides, do you even know where Raphael stood in the apocalypse? He kept away from it well, didn't he? That's because he and Zachariah and that prick Virgil. Virgil," Balthazar shuddered and sneered his name, "his stupid name fits his stupid self."

"Uh, no offense, there _Balthy_," Gabriel tentatively said, "but you've got a pretty dumb name, too."

"Well, at least the general population doesn't think I'm a woman."

"Hey, that's only 'cause the stupid Romans couldn't draw! They made sculptures of everyone else, but when I came around the gospels, Constantine had them draw me into the Bible," he protested with great frustration.

"Oh, stop whining, would you?" Balthazar rolled his eyes. "Let's just gather what we need. I believe the Staff is down this aisle somewhere," he said, gesturing broadly to a few stacks beside them.

Gabriel looked at the signs above and argued, "Isn't that row filed under Deuteronomy?"

Balthazar glanced up as well and hummed. "Maybe the next one over then." He grabbed Gabriel's arm again and suddenly the two were standing on ground level with the shelves towering over them.

"And why can't we just fly to the location of the Staff?" Gabriel asked smartly.

"Because of the warding and protection I've put up," Balthazar explained over his shoulder as he began to move down between rows. "Once off the cat walk, you can't fly anywhere but back up to it, and you can't fly to specific locations; it'll send you way off course."

"That's a ridiculous! Why the Hell would you do that?" Gabriel called after him, refusing to follow him.

Balthazar rolled his eyes again and turned around. "So that gits like you get lost, go mad, and can't steal anything. It'd be faster if we split up, so keep your phone on." He turned again.

"Oh, so cell phones work but not wings?" Garbriel shouted. Balthazar only shrugged and kept moving at his lazy pace. Resigned to the fact that he was on his own, Gabriel yelled, "Nothing happens to be labeled at least, does it?" as he inspected a slingshot-stone set.

"No, I just couldn't seem to find the time for that," Balthazar hissed.

"Alright, already! Calm down!" Gabriel exclaimed. With a heavy sigh, he realized that the slingshot was David's and the stone was Goliath's. He groaned loudly in frustration and jogged several rows to the left. "Well, at least he dropped me off in the Old Testament..."

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_Three things I feel I should add: (1) Yes, I had _Warehouse 13_ in mind while writing this. (2) Don't yell at me for my ignorance of classic movies for Balthazar's references. I rarely watch movies, so I'm just pulling things out of hats. (I do love _Indiana Jones_ though, so don't mock it.) (3) The whole "we each picked an older brother" is how I actually imagine the family dynamic of Heaven.__  
_

_Yes, I know how weird I am._

_Reviews make me write faster! - Erin._


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